


Wrong Number

by cueonego



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: (but not really), Anal Sex, Attempted Seduction, Bottom!Lassiter, Drunken Kissing, Embedded Images, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Prostate Orgasm, Rimming, Sexting, Shower Sex, Top!Shawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cueonego/pseuds/cueonego
Summary: Shawn gets a text from Lassiter. Is-- Is Lassiter sexting him?Or the tale of two idiots.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 77
Kudos: 179





	1. Buzz

**Author's Note:**

> So this story might read exactly like my other chaptered fic (Bow Chicka Wow Wow). I started writing this one before that fic, and I might have cannibalized some elements from this one (-_-;;). But two cakes, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn gets a text from Lassiter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but bear with me while I sort out the story so it's not Literally BCWW Pt. 2 hah.  
> I figured I should get it out so I have a more tangible deadline to edit what I've written.
> 
> Also, assume that Shawn and Lassie have flip phones, as people did in the mid to late 2000s. Or something that's not our current understanding of phones.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s close to 2AM, but Shawn is lying wide-eyed in his bed with his phone on his chest. It’s a text from Lassiter. Two simple words.

**_you up?_ **

After reading the message, he puts his phone down to go back to sleep. It’s 2 in the morning. He’s not up.

But as he is lying down with his eyes closed, he can’t help but wonder. What the hell does Lassie mean by that?

If there were a case, he would have gotten a brief text with the location or the name of the person of interest. More likely, he would have gotten a rude call telling him to haul his ass over to the scene. But really, the most realistic scenario would involve Juliet, because Lassie is _way_ too headstrong to invite a psychic over to his crime scene.

If this were a social call... Well, that’s even more unlikely, because the grumpy detective would _never_ hit him up like this. Carlton Lassiter the Head Detective has a public image to uphold, after all. That meant no going soft on the psychic, ever.

He tries to think of other reasons. But he can’t think of anything at the moment. Even if Lassie were dying alone in a cold warehouse, he would not be texting him like this at this hour.

Cool. That’s settled.

Now he can go to sleep in peace.

He’ll deal with it in the morning.

Who is he kidding, he can’t ignore the message. Sure, Lassiter isn’t his friend like Gus is, but he’s not just any rando either. And sorta-friends don’t ignore each other’s texts. Sorta-friends don’t sit on each other’s text for this long either. And to be honest, he getting more curious than nervous about this whole deal.

Dammit. So he’s up now, alright.

Normally he doesn’t put this much thought into things, just like how his dad likes to remind him every chance he gets. _You never think, Shawn, you can’t just act on your impulses_ , blah-de-blah. But the cryptic simplicity of the message is making him wonder. He’s gonna have to respond to it.

When he finally picks his phone back up, the message is still there, blinking. Good. At least he’s not hallucinating. He contemplates for a little bit on how he wants to phrase his response, and decides that keeping it causal is the best course of action. Of course, minus his usual abbreviations and emoticons, because how old is Lassie anyways?

**_yeah, what’s up?_ **

A response comes back almost instantaneously, and he has to smile at the mental image of Lassie waiting eagerly for his response.

**_can’t sleep._ **

Huh, it’s not quite what he expected. Lassie telling him that he can’t sleep? Hey, it probably means that he made Lassie’s buddy list, a friend who he can text when he’s bored or can’t fall asleep at night. _Whoa_ , does this mean he can text him for all the juicy gossip around the station, or even better, hit him up for late night street tacos?

Maybe not the tacos, but this is a big step. He’s excited to take their sorta-friendship to a full-blown friendship.

He quickly types out a message poking at Lassiter’s habit of consuming exorbitant amounts of coffee, but before he can finish his sentence, another text comes buzzing into his hands.

Wow, Lassie is double texting him now, is he?

**_I’m so hard thinking about you._ **

The phone slips out from his hands and falls back onto his chest as he stares out into the ceiling. _Whoa_. He scrambles to get up from his bed, and _wow_ , okay. With his hand covering his mouth in disbelief, he reads the message again to make sure he got that right the first time.

_I’m so hard thinking about you._

Lassie isn't telling him that he is thinking hard about him. That would be weird to begin with, but nope, he is _hard_ from thinking about him. He’s hard… he’s… Lassiter is sexting him?

 _The_ Lassie, Lassifras, Carlton Lassiter, the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police department? Carlton Lassiter, with weird wonky ears, big long dangly arms, and a gentle sashay when he walks away? The guy with a weird obsession over squirrels and a fear of snow globes? The guy who’s competitive about everything for no good reason? The guy who might have a grenade fetish?

Twilight Zone. He must be in some alternate dimension. Is Gus still even his friend in this universe?

He feels wildly unprepared for this situation. Carlton Lassiter? Sexting him? The message is awfully forward for every possible reason he can think of.

Not that there’s anything wrong with being direct. Sure, he likes it when his suitors show interest in him without shame. It makes him feel good knowing that he’s wanted and desired, and that he’s making them aroused.

 _If_ this were any other person. But–

Actually, now that he thinks of it, despite it all, he likes Lassiter. He has to admit, he does have gorgeous eyes. And the man is full of surprises. He can sing, tap dance, ice skate, among other things. He can be very childish, but Shawn finds it oddly cute when he gets excited over his weird obsessions. And seeing Lassiter get giddy when his cases get cleared, _boy_ , those are the moments that make his choice of profession _so_ worth it.

He also gets so much joy out of pushing Lassiter’s buttons, because it’s so painfully obvious to him that Lassiter secretly likes the attention and doesn’t mind the flirting as much as he pretends to be.

Huh, has he been flirting with Lassie this entire time? Still, that’s where it ended. Lassiter blushed like a schoolgirl, but he never took the extra step to take the flirting to the next level. And really, a man can only go on for so long without a reward for his hard work.

Guess that was until now.

He expected Lassiter to maybe flirt back, but no. Lassiter is skipping all the steps and jumping directly to telling him that he’s going to blow his back out.

Okay, maybe not quite there yet, but he knows that if they continue down this path, eventually they will engage in said activities.

That’s not the worst idea.

It’s actually pretty hot, he has to say.

Hey, who doesn’t love a bit of workplace romance?

While he daydreams about the possibilities and all the places they could be doing the deed, another text comes buzzing in.

**_I want to touch you so bad. I want to touch you until you’re writhing under my hands and begging me to let you come._ **

My, those are some words. He feels his dick twitching against his boxers, and a silent moan escapes his mouth. He’s _so_ right. They are _so_ going to take a trip to pound town, butter the biscuit, and get it on.

Though, he never pegged Lassiter to be the dominant type, because come on, for someone who orders people around and has to act all imposing during his day job, he _has_ to enjoy something different for his sex life.

But none of that matters now. He isn’t going to lie, the image of Lassie's big, domineering hands on him sounds very hot at the moment. Like _seriously_ hot. Spencer gulps down, feeling his mouth suddenly dry, and types out a response.

**_Wow, that’s really hot._ **

**_Yeah I bet, you dirty slut._ **

Wow, he is calling him names! This is more advanced than he thought it was going to be. He puts his hand in his boxers and keeps his eyes fixed on the continuous stream of messages from Lassiter.

The last one catches his eyes.

**_I want to hear you moan as you take my cock up your tight hole._ **

_God._

That sounded _very good_.

Halfway into typing his response, Shawn realizes he wants to hear Lassiter tell him these words, instead of reading about it. He wants to hear his heavy breath and growls over the receiver. Most of all, he wants his hands to be free so he can start jerking himself off.


	2. Buzz Buzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter is really bad at handling things.

Lassiter is stroking himself over his boxers and typing out another message with his free hand. Things are going great considering it’s his first time doing this so-called ‘sexting’ thing. Sex and text, really, it’s a clever name. It’s great, until his phone starts to buzz and his screen turns blinding white.

☏

Shawn Spencer

Shawn Spencer? At this hour?

He hurriedly removes his hand from himself, cursing at the fact that the village idiot is calling him when things are just starting to get hot and heavy. He briefly considers ignoring the call, but on the off chance that Spencer is off investigating something on his own, he decides that it’s his civic duty to answer the call. He’s an officer of the law, after all.

He clears his throat a couple of times before clicking the receive button.

“What do you want?” he snaps, more so than he needs to.

“What do I want? Whew, Lassie, tell me about what _you_ want, am I right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, right. First of all, I didn't realize you were actually into men, much less me.”

Lassiter’s heart drops when he hears Spencer say that. He knows Spencer isn’t a true psychic, but sometimes he was scary good. How in the hell did he know that?

Is he out there? He wouldn’t put it past Spencer to do something like that. Lassiter brings himself up from his bed and lifts the curtains to check outside the windows, while keeping his back flush against the wall. No suspicious movements outside.

“ _Okay_ , Spencer. How did you—”

“But regardless, you've piqued my interest. You can say I'm eager and sufficiently aroused. I think it's time we graduated to phone sex. So you can hear me moan and vice versa.”

“Wha—”

“You know what they say about Aries men and sex. Hot and passionate, with a side of some kinky. It seems like you just wanna jump right into it, so I guess I’m down to skip the foreplay.”

When the realization hits, Lassiter's eyes open wide in panic. He slaps his phone shut and flips it open again to check his text history. The recents list reads Shawn Spencer, Shawn Spencer, Shawn Spencer...

Christ, he’s been texting Spencer this entire time. Telling Spencer that he wants to jerk him off. That he wants to fuck his brains out.

He can’t believe that he was so horny that he missed the recipient of his texts entirely.

_Good going, Carlton!_

The phone slips out and falls onto the ground as Lassiter slaps his face to wear off the shock. Dear god, this is not good. Not good at all.

Meanwhile, Shawn is as shocked that Lassiter simply hung up on him. In the middle of a phone sex? He can’t quite figure out what kind of sick game Lassie is playing yet, but he knows he isn’t going to let this fizzle away. Not like this.

Lassiter looks down when he hears his phone buzzing around on the floor, with Spencer's name flashing on the screen.

“Nope, not picking that up,” he mutters and waits for the call to go to voicemail. He’s not planning on touching his phone even with a ten foot pole any time soon.

His phone becomes quiet, but only for a moment before it starts ringing again. _My god_ does he ever give up?

In anguish, he grabs his phone and throws it into his bedside drawer.

As if that’s going to be of any help. The hollow drawer makes the buzzes sound even louder, and his nerves are getting wound up to the point of paralysis. All he can do is sit on the edge of his bed, let the cold sweat dampen his shirt, and wonder if the call is ever going to drop.

_Buzz buzz_

_Buuuzz_

_Buzzzz_

_zzzt—_

And finally, there’s the silence he’s been looking for.

His shoulder relaxes when he can no longer hear the buzzing, and he lets out a deep sigh. But he’s far from relaxed, because this is some deep shit. He doesn’t know how he can ever get out of this massive ditch. Shawn Spencer! _God_! He knows he’s going to hear all about this in the station tomorrow. He just knows.

And it’s awful. He knows that any attempt to explain his mistake to Spencer is going to backfire. He also knows that not explaining his actions to Spencer is going to backfire. It’s time for his tried and true special: pretend that the problem doesn’t exist until it goes away on its own. It worked for a lot of things.

Okay. _Jeez_. He should just go to sleep.

But he doesn’t think that’s possible with the adrenaline pumping through his system. And with the staccato of buzzing by his side, something tells him that Spencer has not given up yet.

He yanks his drawer open and pulls his phone out against his better judgment. The messages read:

**_omg cnt believe u hung up on me!!!!_ **

**_come on Lass, I know ur reading this. pick up ur phone._ **

**_u cnt just leave a man hanging like this!!!_ **

**_speaking of hanging, bet ur pretty hung ;P_ **

Right.

So, Spencer isn’t real. He cannot possibly be a real person.

How else can he explain the fact that he’s the most childish and inappropriate mess he’s ever had the displeasure to work with? He must be some sort of devil conjured up with the sole purpose of torturing him. The divine wants him to suffer, without the possibility of escape.

What has he ever done to land in his own personal hell? He’s been living a model life, catching crooks and putting them behind bars, tipping at restaurants, recycling paper, driving— well, maybe not that, but he has good reason for every infraction he has to make.

He’s been good. He _at least_ doesn’t deserve this.

But Spencer continues on, much to his dismay.

**_ok, sry. I’ll play ur game. I’ll be your dirty slut, I’ll be quiet and I won’t say anything unless prompted._ **

**_come on, Lass!_ **

**_here’s a lil sneak peak on what ur missing out ;)_ **

Lassiter is dizzy, reading Spencer’s messages, and mindlessly clicks on a new notification for an MMS message. After a brief loading screen, the image starts to load, row by row, pixel by pixel from the top.

He sees the unruly hair, his scrunched eyes and nose, then his mouth holding his shirt up, exposing his bare chest, and his arms leading down, and... _oh_ , his hand clutching his dick and propping it up.

Dick picture. It’s a picture of his dick.

Once the image loads fully, he can clearly see that Spencer's dick is framed in the middle of the photo, drawing his attention to it no matter what he tries. His eyes pore over the picture, and it’s getting really hard to peel his eyes away from it no matter how much he knows he should.

This is Shawn Spencer, the idiot pretend-psychic he only tolerates because he can sometimes be handy to have around. An idiot with a stupid smirk and stupid spiky hair and... a really nice looking dick, and the taut skin over his chest sprinkled with brown hair looks delicious, and _dear god_ , he has to slam his phone shut for the second time tonight, but not before the wrong idea makes its way into his head.

He shuts his eyes hard, as if that will help with getting the image out of his mind.

It’s not working.

He throws his phone into his drawer to stop himself from opening the message again. But the image is already seared in the back of his mind.

He’s totally screwed.

He hears another series of buzzes, but he’s not sure if he can’t take any more of this. He might pass out if this continues. He frantically pulls his phone out and takes the battery out, quickly discarding the pieces into the drawer like a dirty diaper.

Sleep. He should sleep.

Lassiter lies down on his bed, but he’s not so sure his mind will let him sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good old times when you could just slap your phone shut. I’m gonna try to update this on a weekly basis! Stay tuned :)


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter did fall asleep after that night. But is he ready to face the day?

Lassiter swats at his alarm clock when he is rudely awakened in the morning. With his head still groggy and heart thumping from the interrupted sleep, the first thing he does is to connect the battery to his phone. Unfortunately, the day is starting and he needs to be able to receive any calls from work.

When he opens his phone to check for any missed calls, oh-so-many texts from the night before start buzzing in. He rubs his bleary eyes to see who they are from, and of course, they’re all from Shawn Spencer. _Damn_ , it means the events from last night weren’t just a nightmare.

He rubs his face and scratches the back of his head while he stares at the notifications. As much as he doesn’t want to check the messages, he can’t deal with a clogged up inbox. With a sigh, he flips through the messages so he can clear his inbox of his mistakes. He can’t leave any evidence behind.

**_I showed u mine now show me urs <3_ **

_God_. He’s embarrassed just from reading it. He absolutely does not have any intention of sharing the image of his private parts. Even though Spencer regularly tries to look over the dividers between the urinals, he’s managed to keep it private so far. Delete.

**_my psychic senses r telling me.... I sense.... a 8==D_ **

**_ok, probs more like 8======D_ **

Psychic senses, my ass. What does the 8 equals D mean, anyways? It’s probably something he doesn’t want to know. All he knows is that if he could travel back in time, he would smack himself in the face for being so careless. Delete, delete.

**_or maybe ur obsession with guns & cars = compensating for for smthg_ **

**_Lassie?_ **

**_ok, I guess I’ll masturbate solo :(_ **

Great, it seems like Spencer’s had a grand time making fun of him. Delete, delete, delete.

And thank god, he is finally at the bottom of the list, but he sees the line for the MMS message from the night before. Yeah, _that_ image.

_Oh god_ , that image. It makes his head go to places that it shouldn’t this early in the morning. He should get rid of the message. _Especially_ this.

He brings his finger onto the delete button, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. He knows he should. Really, the picture isn’t even that good, dark and grainy, and what’s he gonna do with a tiny picture on his phone?

He wasn’t even texting Spencer in the first place, so he shouldn’t keep it around, but... _well_ , it’s a pretty sweet picture, and there’s no harm in keeping it around for several reasons, and _damn_ , he figures a cold shower would do him good, and slams his phone shut.

* * *

He quickly showers, because he can’t let his mind wander around in the warm shower. A strictly business only shower, it is. None of that thinking. None of that touching.

Besides, he can’t wait to get his hands on some coffee.

Absolutely no attention is to be paid to his semi-hard on.

He hops out of the shower and gets dressed in record speed, Adam and Eve be damned.

As he’s picking out his tie, his door bell rings. This early in the morning, he usually doesn’t get visitors. It must be damn Girl Scout season again. Dressing kids in uniforms so they can guilt people into buying cookies.

Usually telling them he’ll arrest them for trespassing does the trick, so he flings his tie around his not-quite buttoned shirt and opens the door.

It turns out to be a grave mistake.

He knew it was coming, but he didn’t expect it to be right this morning.

Spencer is standing in front of his door, holding a cup of takeout coffee and a paper bag. The idiot’s eyes widen and he’s standing still, frozen in front of his doorstep. It’s probably the first time he has seen him this speechless and flabbergasted. Something is up.

“What? What are you staring at?” Lassiter says with a hint of suspicion, peeping out to check the surroundings of his apartment.

“ _Uh_ , wow Lassie, I knew you were hairy, but... _Wow_ ,” Spencer trails, moving his hands about the vicinity of Lassiter’s chest.

He sees Spencer's eyes, completely mesmerized, trailing down from his neck to the exposed patch of skin. _Oh god, no._

Realizing why Spencer is so flustered, he turns around and angrily fastens his buttons. It leaves him feeling a little prudish, but hearing Spencer’s presence again, shaking the paper bag behind him and saying "I brought coffee and muffins!" assures him that this is the right thing to do. He shouldn’t give him any more material to fuel his nonsense crusade.

He turns around after finishing his tie, and scowls with the biggest frown he can manage.

“Go away before I arrest you.”

“ _Whaaat_? For what?” Spencer chuckles, trying to feign his ignorance with a well-placed laughter. Slimy bastard.

“Trespassing.”

”Hey, hold your horses, Lassie. I'll do anything! _If you catch my drift_."

Oh _no_. He doesn’t want to catch his drift. He tries his best to ignore the innuendo as well as the _obviously_ wiggling eyebrows.

“ _Well_ ,” Lassiter says with a finality. “If that's the case, you can go away.”

He turns to close the door, but Spencer lurches in and squeezes his hand in to pry it open. Spencer is surprisingly strong, pushing against Lassiter’s best efforts to shut the door.

“You see, I can't do that,” Spencer strains.

“And why is that?” Lassiter strains back. He doesn’t really need Spencer teasing him for the texts from the night before. It was a big mistake, one he would very much like to forget about.

While the coffee smells good, he can’t let his guard down.

“I need a ride from you.”

Lassiter mouth hangs open, and slowly, his brows start to furrow.

“Oh, _please_. Stop with the dirty innuendos.”

Usually Shawn has a response prepared right off the bat, but it takes him a moment to process Lassiter’s response. Heh, _a ride_ from Lassie. He would give everything to see Lassie’s face behind the door, because this is just too perfect.

“I like where your head is at, Lassie, I really do.” he chuckles. “But I actually do need a ride. Gus dropped me off here and went to work.”

Of course he does. But Lassiter pretends not to care, and pries Spencer’s fingers off the door. “Sounds like a you problem to me.”

“No _nonono_! Lassie, come on, don’t you wanna know why I’m here? Coffee?” he protests, but this time Lassiter manages to slam the door on his face. He makes sure to lock the door behind him as well.

Spencer’s muffled protests and the banging against the door makes him grin. It’s moments like these he tries to cherish. Not that he’s keeping a score, but he just won that round, and it feels _good_ to start the day right.

He makes sure to take his time to grab his jacket and check himself in the mirror to straighten his tie. He picks his briefcase and keys up, and takes a deep breath before opening the door again.

“Oh thank god. I knew you would open it back–” Spencer yammers, but Lassiter is pushing him aside and locking the door. “Hey where are you going?”

As if Spencer doesn’t exist, Lassiter makes his way down to his car. Normally, if this were any other people, he would have already explained that the texts were not meant for him, that it was unprofessional, and moved on with it.

But, if Spencer were real people, he would not even be in this situation right now. Like, who answers to racy texts from a coworker, calls them in the middle of it, and then shows up to their place the day after?

A professional clown. Really, look at him. Spencer is skipping along, making as much commotion as he can. A professional clown feeding off of making people miserable.

But Lassiter won’t fall for his antics. He manages to slam the car door shut on his face again.

“Oh, really? _Again_ , Lassie?”

Yes, really. Again. Lassiter turns his keys and drives away, leaving Spencer at his stoop. He sees him running and waving at him through his rear view mirror, stumbling down as he trips over himself.

_Ha!_

He grins at the sight, which he knows it’s childish, again, but it’s giving him enough juice to go on through with the day.

Lassiter: 2, Fake Psychic: 0.

* * *

He walks into the station whistling, with a pep in his walk, until he sees Spencer perched up on his desk.

“How the hell?” Lassiter blurts out, stopping in his tracks. “Get your ass off my desk!”

“I called Buzz,” Spencer mumbles, while stuffing his face with a muffin.

McNab peeks out from behind the corner and waves him a "Morning, Detective," and Lassiter can’t help but rub his temples. Of course.

Keep it cool, Lassiter. Keep it cool.

“ _Why_ did you offer this man a ride?” he shouts as he fails at keeping his cool.

As always, McNab looks confused. “Shawn said he was bringing coffee for you but you were already gone, so I gave him a lift.”

Lassiter can’t understand how he always falls for the stupid gimmick Spencer comes up with. Really, it’s baffling, and he just really needs to get his cup of coffee before he can deal with any of this nonsense. “Get away from my desk. Both of you.”

At least McNab takes the cue, shuffling away looking like a guilty puppy who peed on the carpet. But Spencer, as always, is a giant pain in the ass who won’t budge.

“Come on, Lassie. Look! I still have the coffee and muffins. Well, uh, half a muffin and not much coffee, if you’re into that. Oh! I know. I'll clean your desk.”

As a principle, Lassiter doesn’t accept bribes. He doesn’t accept bribes, _especially_ if Spencer is involved. He should know better.

He also suspects there is an ulterior motive to Spencer’s offers, like taking a peek at his files while he’s supposedly cleaning the desk with his sugary hands.

“My desk is already clean, idiot,” Lassiter grumbles, while closing his file folders and stacking them away from Spencer’s ass and his prying eyes.

“Ah, so it is. Then _perhaps_ ,” Spencer says, scooting on the desk and putting himself in front of Lassiter. “I can interest you in massages, an early bird special for your weary shoulders.”

Lassiter flinches when Spencer’s hands land over on his shoulders. Completely disregarding any personal boundaries, he leans his face closer and pouts his lips oh-so mockingly. “Must be so tired from staying up late, _you know_ , with all this paperwork.”

It’s not the first time Spencer has overstepped his personal bubble – really that man had no bubble whatsoever – but as always, Lassiter can’t help but get flustered.

He notices the whiff of blueberry muffin and the warmth of his hands on his shoulders. Spencer’s shirt, which are always a size too small, he swears, rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of his lower stomach and the beginning of a happy trail.

_Nope._

Lassiter averts his eyes and swats away Spencer’s hands. “You will _not_ touch me.”

He points at Spencer to make sure his point sticks, but Spencer is busy gazing up to Lassiter, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth parted slightly. His lower lip looks so plump and delicious, speckled with sugar crystals from the muffin.

“Okay, that’s– that’s fine too, in a _very_ hot way.”

But against his word, Spencer wraps his legs around Lassiter’s and pulls him closer to the desk. Lassiter stumbles forward, his hands slamming on the desk by Spencer’s thighs.

It’s incomprehensible to him that Spencer is _this_ invested in making him feel like a blundering fool. He might say that it’s working, because he kind of wants to lick the sugar specks off of Spencer’s lips.

But once he becomes aware of his surroundings and the strange looks they are getting, a shot of anger consumes him, and he feels like sucker punching the man in front of him instead. He could probably claim self defense if things get nasty, but decides it’s not worth the risk, and takes a deep breath.

“Let go of me,” Lassiter grumbles, his eyes pressed shut and quivering.

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, then releases the clamp of his legs and hops down from the desk. “But I gotta ask. _What_ is your problem? This has _gotta_ be the worst way to torture someone. You can’t just text me what you're gonna do to me and leave me hanging like this.”

Oh my god.

Under gritted teeth, Lassiter whispers while gripping onto Spencer’s shoulders with force. “ _Spencer_ , if you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of the station. _Keep. your. voice. down_! And get the hell out!”

“But—”

“Scram!”

Lassiter flings Spencer at the entrance with so much force that Spencer doesn’t get the option to stay and chat. He brushes by Juliet, who is visibly confused at the morning commotion.

She gazes back at Spencer’s face as he’s being launched out, then turns to look at Carlton’s desk. She has seen her partner get red-face angry at Shawn before, but this is a whole new level she’s never seen before.

“Wow, what happened?” she asks, as she points back at the entrance with her thumb.

Lassiter whips his head up from his desk, trying his best to put on his as-a-matter-of-fact face. “Nothing happened, _Detective_.”

Juliet can see through her partner’s lie way too easily though. “Well, _clearly_ , you're angry about something.”

“ _No_ , I am not. See? This is me smiling and being _not_ angry.”

He shoots up from his desk and storms past her to the rec area with a terrifyingly forced smile, choosing to drink the god-awful station coffee over whatever Shawn has brought for him.

She’s beginning to wonder why bribes were involved in the first place, why Gus wasn’t here with Shawn, and why Carlton didn’t take the coffee. Obviously, something is up and she has to start her own little investigation now.

Her phone is already out for the interrogation of the presumed guilty party.

**_Shawn, what’s up between you two?_ **

**_Besides the steamy sexual tension, nothing._ **

Juliet rolls her eyes. It’s typical, really, for him to avoid her questions with ludicrous and inappropriate comments like this.

**_Ha-ha. Very funny. But really, should I be worried? He seems very angry._ **

**_u have nothing to worry abt Jules ;)_ **

**_Why are you winking at me?_ **

**_No reason. g2g xoxo_ **

Now she’s more confused than ever, but she shrugs it off and goes to her desk. She knows not to poke at Lassiter for another hour or so.

The rest of the day is pretty quiet without Shawn’s presence in the station. Lassiter seems to have calmed down, except for the occasional tightening fists and the deep breathing exercises he seems to be trying out today.

The frequency of his actions seems to be connected to his phone buzzing, but nobody dares to question.


	4. Dick Pic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drawing of Shawn’s dick pic ooops sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this isn’t a chapter update, and I know it’s incredibly self indulgent to draw art of ur own fic, but I just had to draw Shawn’s dick pic..... It’s the same one as I posted on my Tumblr, but uncensored haha
> 
> NSFW content below, as you can guess


	5. Seduction (Attempted)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter threw out Spencer from the station this morning. As he does, he surrounds himself with work to keep himself occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shawn might read a little bit too pushy for some readers, pls keep that in mind.

People are heading out one by one, but Lassiter chooses to stay late at work, trying to bury himself in paperwork. He figures Spencer will strike again, and what better place to hide than the station? Spencer should know better than to step his foot back into the station after what he showed him in the morning.

Everyone is gone, except for his partner, who he can see walking towards his desk. Not this again.

“Um, Carlton?” she asks hesitantly.

“Yes, O’Hara?” he responds without lifting his head up from his desk.

“Do you want to talk about what happened this morning?”

“No.”

“Are you sure everything is okay, Carlton?”

She sounds so pleading that he starts to feel bad. He lifts his head up, meeting his partner in the eyes. She has an awkward smile that he _knows_ she uses to tease whatever she wants to hear from him. She’s grown to become a master interrogator, but keeping his little mistake a secret trumps her guilt-Carlton-into-confessing face.

“I’d much rather die than talk about this. So please.”

“Okay, just saying, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.” She taps on his desk to show her solidarity where it doesn’t belong.

“Goodbye, O’Hara.” he curtly ends the conversation and returns to the paperwork on his desk. He hears her walking away, her footsteps becoming fainter and fainter until he’s the only one remaining in the station.

He slams his pen down and leans back into his chair. God, it’s been a long day.

It has been a while since Lassiter went on a successful date, so he was trying out something new, getting up to date with the digital age. He managed to find someone who looked respectable enough and got their number, but boy, he he never even got to talk to that guy.

It’s starting to frustrate him… sexually, because after seeing Spencer’s picture, he can’t get the image out of his head. The fact that Spencer was so incredibly attractive while being hard for him. _Jesus_ , Spencer is… _Spencer_ , for gods sake.

Something must be fundamentally wrong with him for finding Spencer’s picture so hot. And _God_ , knowing that the picture is simply one click away makes it even more tantalizing. He must be so off his game that he’s seriously considering looking at the picture again.

The paperwork is mundane and boring, but he’s surprisingly gotten a lot done in the past hour. With the station silent and dark except for his desk light, he is more focused than ever, if not for the occasional urges to look at his phone. He’s managed to curb it so far, and he just needs to get through this stack.

He knows that he will need a lot of coffee tomorrow, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Lassiter. He‘s going to take it one day at a time.

He figures he will continue this routine for a few days, and by then Spencer will get bored of this and move onto something else to latch his childish attention on.

“So—”

Hearing the movement behind him, Lassiter whips out from his chair and slams the figure onto his desk, bending their arm behind the back.

“Ow! _Ow_! Jeez, I know you hate surprises but you can’t keep on reacting with your fight and fight response!”

A figure with a stupid hair he could tell from a mile away.

“Spencer?” Lassiter asks, loosening his grip on the man.

“ _Yes_ , Lassie. It’s me, your favorite psychic.”

“Yeah, psychic my ass. If you’re a real psychic you would know better than to show up here behind me.”

Spencer winces, but his voice is still playful. “So does that mean I’m your favorite? You didn’t deny that part– about me being your favorite.”

“Shut up.”

Part of Lassiter wants to believe that Spencer is here to apologize. But seeing as how everything is a joke to Spencer, he knows that there is no way in hell Spencer would do something like that. He’s probably here to dance around his precinct like he owns it, make him look like an idiot, so he can have a grand time laughing about it with Guster.

Just thinking about it is starting to piss him off. Oh, Spencer is in it for his wrath. He had it coming for a long time.

He pushes down harder and tightens his twist on Spencer’s arm.

“Why are you here?” he growls into Spencer’s ear.

He waits for pathetic excuses to leave his mouth, but nothing much is coming out other than scattered gasps. He barks into his ear again.

“You better talk right now before I throw your ass in jail. What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

It finally squeezes a response out of Spencer.

“Okay, okay! I’m here to— I’m here to see you,” Spencer grumbles, looking back at Lassiter with a wince.

“Yeah, no thanks—”

“So I can do _this_.”

Spencer wiggles back against Lassiter, lining his ass up to his crotch. Spencer’s ass, perfectly cradling his crotch. _Oh_. It takes a bit for Lassiter to realize what’s happening, but by the time he understands, his body is stiff in panic. It takes another wiggle for Lassiter to let go and push away from Spencer.

“Whoa! What the _hell_ are you doing?”

But Spencer chooses to ignore his question, turning and walking towards Lassiter who is having a hard time holding his fort down. As Lassiter is inching backwards, Spencer corners him against the file cabinets, their face so close to each other that Lassiter can easily see the bit of chocolate on the corner of Spencer’s mouth. Why he always had bits of food on his lips, he never tried to understand.

“Spencer, I’m warning you,” Lassiter tries to stay stern, but Spencer chuckles at him in turn, because he’s all cornered and vulnerable, and isn’t exactly being imposing _at all_.

“Or what? You’re going to slam me against the desk again?” Spencer purrs, pushing Lassiter flush against the cabinet. “ _Cuff me_?”

Usually it‘s the other way around, getting slammed against the cabinets. But he feels the cabinet handle digging into his back, and it’s a new level of humiliation he hadn’t experienced before. Realizing what Spencer’s tone is suggesting makes him even more flustered.

As Lassiter is draped over the cabinets, Spencer inserts himself between Lassiter’s legs and starts pushing his body closer to him. And yes, by this point, he can feel Spencer’s dick against his thigh. It’s hotter than the rest of his body, and he can feel the hardness vividly even through the layers of fabric between them.

He shuts his eyes, but all he can see behind his closed eyes is the image from last night.

_Dear god._

Carlton Jr. doesn’t understand that this is _not_ a good time to show up. With that, he can’t help but let out a soft grunt, hurriedly masking it as if he’s clearing his throat. He should say something, but he’s having a hard time finding the words to diffuse this situation.

“I think your holsters really accentuate your pecs,” Spencer hums as he’s tracing along the leather holster with his fingers. They gracefully slide down onto Lassiter’s belt buckle, and he leans in closer to his face. “I think that’s really hot.”

It’s intoxicating, feeling Spencer’s eyes scanning his body and lingering on parts he wants to devour. Lassiter tries to warn Spencer between his shaky breaths, but Spencer must definitely know what he’s doing, because he’s hearing his own pulse throbbing inside his ears and his mouth isn’t moving an inch.

“ _Shhhh_ , Lassie,” Spencer coos, yanking on Lassiter’s tie and bringing his mouth to nuzzle him on the neck. “Not a word. Do you know how many times I imagined you saying things like that to me? How much I imagined sucking you off after a long day?”

It sends a shiver down his back. It’s crazy. It cannot possibly be true. Why would— why would he say these thing to him? His eyes aren’t quite focusing, looking out to the wall behind them. Spencer’s mouth is doing ungodly things to his neck, and _fuck_ , he’s feeling his entire body humming with pleasure.

“Drop the act and let loose, Lassie. I’ve been told that I can make people see the face of god, and that that face oddly looks like me.”

He sounds so assured, so confident in his abilities as always. He’s got a spunky attitude in his eyes when he pulls his head up to look at Lassiter.

“Tell me what you need, Lassie.”

Spencer is looking into his eyes, waiting for him to give him the word. He sounds like he can make everything come true if he has the courage to say it. He wants it, lord knows he wants it. He wants to see where it goes, what Spencer is so proud of.

But his mouth ends up blurting out something completely different.

“You need to leave.”

“No,” he utters with utter conviction. “What you _really_ need.”

That damn psychic.

“I can’t,” Lassiter whispers, his voice shaky and soft.

“And why is that, Lassie? I’m willing, and it feels like you’re also willing.” Spencer’s breath is hot and heavy on his cheeks. “If that’s what I think it is in your pants.”

Spencer pushes his body closer against Lassiter and lets out a groan as his bulge rubs against his. It takes everything for him to stop himself from grinding his hips back. He can’t answer Spencer’s question, because he himself is not quite sure why he shouldn’t do this.

“Spencer, _please_ ,” Lassiter pleads. It becomes hard to breathe, feeling Spencer’s hands dancing around his neck. His face is burning up, flush with desire. “Quit joking around.”

“I’m not joking. Can’t you feel it?” Spencer bucks his hips against Lassiter. And fuck, he’s shuddering from the sensation, unable to guard a quiet gasp from escaping his mouth.

He can’t believe Shawn Spencer is so hell-bent on sucking him off. What kind of joke is this?

“Tell me what you want to do with me, Lassie. You want me to be your dirty slut?” Spencer whispers against his mouth. His body is firm and hot against his, and his fingers tickling around his waist. Spencer’s eyes are locked onto his, his mouth hovering so close to his. Even the smallest nudge would put his lips on Spencer’s lips.

He wants to say yes to everything Spencer is offering. Would it be so wrong to succumb to his bodily desires? What would be so wrong to let Spencer go down on him? It seems like Spencer wants to—

For fucks sake, what is he talking about? Obviously, he is getting played with like a cheap fucking toy. Spencer taking pleasure out of getting him riled up. He should have some damn self-respect. He shouldn’t want Spencer in any shape or form, because he’s just a nuisance, a bother, an annoyance.

He needs to correct this before it goes on any further.

But it’s not as easy as it sounds. His voice has gone all soft, eyes are wavering, and he’s melting under Spencer’s touch.

But he has to tell the truth.

“That was a mistake.”

He feels Spencer’s body stiffen with his confession.

“What are you talking about, Lassie? Mistake?”

Spencer loses his footing as the offensive, from the shock of hearing Lassiter’s rebuttal. Lassiter takes the chance and pushes Spencer back, gritting his teeth.

“Yeah, it was a big fat mistake.”

“You think sexting me was a mistake? Lassie, I–”

He goes for another jab.

“Why are you really here, hmm? There’s nobody to watch you make fun of me, nobody to see me make a fool of myself by reacting to your antics. What is your game here Spencer?”

Shawn is taken aback.

He has to admit, trying to go see Lassie in the morning before he had his coffee was a risky move. He might have foolishly assumed that bringing him a cup of coffee was going to be the key to a bit of morning sex.

That obviously didn’t work.

He totally gets that the station during the day is not the sexiest place in the world, with all the other people watching and all. So it made perfect sense when Lassie threw him out of the station. Again, Lassie likes to think that he has a reputation to uphold, and he has to respect the hustle.

So he thought taking a direct approach when they were alone was going to get him what he wanted. And clearly, nighttime is more suitable for sexy times.

But Lassiter is acting too damn tense about this entire situation. Isn’t this what they do, push back and forth between the invisible line? It should have been Lassiter’s turn to shove back, to finally tip it over the line. He might have been a little too aggressive with his intentions, but Lassiter is going off the script. It’s not how it was supposed to go down.

He quickly walks through his memories, trying to put some meaning behind what Lassiter is saying, and oh… He finally remembers Lassiter sounding surprised across the receiver, as if he wasn’t just texting him all the intimate details about what he wanted to do to him.

_Uh oh._

To be fair, he figures he didn’t give much space for Lassiter to say anything back of substance. But he feels like a fool not having connected the dots a lot earlier.

“Wow, Lassie, I— _okay_.”

And to Lassiter’s surprise, Spencer steps aside.

He straightens his tie and smooths over his shirt, but he can see Spencer standing still and looking at him from the corner of his eyes. _Fuck_. He needs to nip this in the bud.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

But Spencer is quiet.

“Didn’t think so,” he snarls.

Lassiter grabs his jacket and shoves past Spencer, hiding his face. He can’t be looking at Spencer right now. He feels that he might be acting a little bit too harsh, but this is the only way he knows how to be. He needs to be firm about this.

He needs to get away from here.

He doesn’t turn back.

He drives with a single goal in his mind.

When he finally pulls into his driveway, he realizes that he needs to take a deep breath, because _fuck_ , what the hell was all that. He slams on his steering wheel and rubs his face, wondering how he got himself into this mess.

He resents Spencer so damn much for being a damn pain in his ass, playing around with his feelings like that.


	6. The Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter ran away from Spencer’s attempt at seduction. They both try to deal with this situation in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was just going to publish this chapter after a quick edit, but I actually ended up rewriting this entire chapter lol. Please excuse if there are any mistakes!

“Okay, what is wrong with you.”

Shawn frowns at the accusation cutting through the otherwise silent Psych office. The sun is out, they had just had a great plate of nachos for lunch, and things were going good. He was just thinking he could even take a siesta under the sun.

Sure he might have a lot of issues, but he wasn’t doing anything for Gus to start throwing punches like that around.

“What? What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been sighing for the _past hour_. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to get some work done here.” Gus points at his laptop with his hands, placed on his neat and orderly desk.

“Well, nothing’s wrong. You can carry on with your stuff,” Shawn says, waving at Gus’s general direction.

He leans back into the chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest and perching his legs on top of his desk. Jeez, what’s up with Gus? He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.

Okay, he might have thought about Lassie for a bit, but he was _absolutely_ not sighing for an hour.

In response, Gus raises his eyebrows at him, also crossing his arms in front him.

“Spill it,” Gus says, his brows scrunching to exact more pressure.

Their silent staring contest continues on for a moment until Shawn throws a crumpled piece of paper at Gus. But Gus manages to catch the crumpled ball and throws it back, hitting Shawn in the head with his scary precision aim.

“ _Fine_! Something’s wrong,” Shawn grumbles, rubbing at the spot on his head, and continues begrudgingly. “There’s this guy. And I got a sext from him, but I don’t think it was meant for me.”

Gus looks at Shawn and responds without missing a beat. “Okay, so you ignore it and move on. What’s the issue?”

Shawn puts his feet down from the desk and slumps over the desk. Clearly Gus isn’t grasping the severity of the issue. He can’t believe he’s so alone in this world right now.

“Because Gus, I thought it was for me, and we were really going at it.” Shawn continues, ignoring the disgusted look from his friend. “And in the heat of the moment, I called him to, _you know_ , speed up the process.”

“You called him?” Gus gasps, his hands slamming on the desk as he shoots up from his desk. “ _Shawn_ , you don’t do things like that in the middle of sexting! _Obviously_ he hung up on you.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

Gus gives him a knowing look, but Shawn is annoyed that there is an unspoken rule to sexting that nobody cared to mention to him.

“Okay fine, but I even went to his place to see if he wanted to pick up where we left off.”

“ _Oh my god_ , Shawn,” Gus says, falling back down onto his chair as if he had just heard that his mother passed away. “You must be out of your damn mind. You said he was texting the wrong person!”

“Yeah, but _hello_ , I was also interested.”

“So lemme get this straight,” Gus says, letting out a big sigh. “You got a sext intended for someone else, responded to it, and went as so far as to call him. Then you proceeded to go to his place the morning after even though he hung up on you?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Shawn nods, unable to understand why Gus is finding the chain of events ridiculous.

“Do I know this guy?” Gus asks, but he answers himself before Shawn can say a word. “You know what, I don’t wanna know.”

And like that, Gus turns back to his laptop. But Shawn knows Gus is not going to get any work done, especially if he drops some more intimate details that he can’t ignore.

“But, _Gus_ , it seemed like he was interested in it too.”

It works like a charm. Gus pauses his typing and stares at him again.

“And you know this how. Your psychic tendrils tell you that?”

“What? Gus, there’s no such thing as psychic tendrils. That’s what they tell you on TV,” he dismisses. But he knows not to test Gus’s patience this long, so he continues on with his story.

“When I went to see him, I... _Well_ , let’s just say his body was reacting to what I had to offer,” he says, flashing a sheepish smile. He’s pretty proud of that one.

Gus isn’t as amused.

“I bet that went swimmingly,” he mocks, but Shawn bats it right back with confidence. He really did nothing wrong!

“No, he kicked me out and left me.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t take a psychic to see that coming.”

“But _why not_?”

“You can’t just go up to someone who is probably really embarrassed about the mistake and rub it all over their face!”

“Well, it was more over their crotch—“

Gus stops him with his finger. “ _Shawn_. Spare me the details.”

“Well, then what do you suggest I do?” Shawn asks, because he’s honestly out of ideas at this point.

Gus silently stares at him again, trying to determine if it’s worth getting himself into.

“Do you even want my help? It seems like you got it all figured out quite nicely.”

But Shawn knows that Gus always wants to be in on things with him.

“Come on, Gus. I need my magichead to give me some magic.”

“Stop calling me that.” Gus frowns, turning his face away and staring at him sideways.

He knows Gus can’t help it. He can clearly see that he is thinking through the situation. And just as he guessed, Gus is back on the advice train.

“Okay, hit me. Do _you_ know this person well?”

“Well yeah, but we haven’t gone on any dates, if that’s what you’re asking,” Shawn answers. “Unless you count the thrilling sexual tension we experience every day, so hot that it starts fogging up the windows like in Titanic—“

“—Stop,” Gus interrupts, plugging his ears and shaking his head. “How do you even know there’s this sexual tension? How do you know you’re not being horny all by yourself?”

Okay, that was just rude. Obviously Lassie and he had so much sexual tension. Sooooo much.

“Since when have you become an expert on relationships?”

“You asked for my advice! Besides, I’m not the one who got kicked out for offering himself up to a rando,” Gus complains. “Shawn, I think that’s actually called prostitution.”

“What? No it’s not. There was no money involved.”

“Might as well have been.”

“Gus, enough with the slut-shaming! Besides, I don’t think they’ll want to go out on a date with me, not after that.”

Gus seems glad he’s finally getting through. “You’re damn right.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Just wait it out until it becomes less awkward. He probably thought you were making fun of his mistake. You need to show him you’re serious, and if you had any chance to begin with, maybe he’ll accept your apology.”

Shawn smirks, crooking his eyebrow up. “Maybe he’ll accept my offer to go down on him, finally.”

With that remark, Gus asserts that he is not interested in giving more advice on his 'harlotrous activities' and storms out of the office with his laptop.

Shawn opts for some trash can basketball to clear his head. He has to admit that Gus is right in at least one regard. Lassie is such a serious person — serious about his job, his hobbies, his threats. He guesses he should have been more serious about the sex stuff as well.

It’s not like he can’t be serious. If it means getting Lassie back on the game, he can totally be serious.

Especially after having a taste of Lassie in close quarters, seeing him so, _so_ , turned on like that. Showing his belly like a submissive dog, offering his body up for him to explore.

He’s given up on trying to make the hoop, because there are more important things to think about now. Like his little whimpers and moans, how he reacted so eagerly to his touches, and god, the package inside his pants.

He knows he has a chance with Lassie; he’s always had one. And according to Gus, he just needs to be more serious. So simple.

He’s going to make sure Lassie can trust him, believe that he’s not going to hurt him, that he’s not messing around with him just for funsies. He’s going to make Lassie feel _so_ good that he forgets about everything else.

He’ll give it a few days.

* * *

Lassiter knows he did the right thing, turning down Spencer.

A free blowjob is not a free blowjob if it comes from Spencer. He knows that. Also, Spencer is technically his coworker. He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to do things like that with someone he works with.

Really, last time he messed around with a coworker, she ended up getting transferred, for gods sake. She might have taken all the blame with her once she was out of people’s sight, but a second strike, _boy_. Even though Spencer is considered his coworker only by the fact that he’s also employed by the city, people will no doubt talk about his ability to keep it in his pants.

Besides, he knows Spencer isn’t into men. The way the idiot pines over O’Hara, the string of girlfriends and hookups he’s probably had _just_ in the past year. Really, how many times has he had sex with a girl?

Probably way too many times. And none with a guy.

And even if he has _ever_ slept with a guy, which is unlikely, why would Spencer choose him out of the blue? He’s just… _Carlton Lassiter_. He calls himself the Head Detective, but he is just a mildly successful cop in California. Not even in one of those big cities, but in Santa Barbara, of all places. A small city full of retired rich old people and students going on about the same old stupid shit.

All that touching, flirting, innuendos. Spencer always takes his jokes way too far, committed to the bit if it means he can make people laugh. That’s exactly it. He’s just a giant child, acting inappropriately and throwing around jokes to get a few laughs.

He’s not entirely sure who would have been there to watch him make a fool of himself by letting Spencer go down on him, but he thinks he made the right decision. He can never assume with Spencer.

But the way Spencer came onto him, after the initial shock and misdirected anger from being blindsided like that, it’s making his legs weak. The way Spencer took charge of the situation, pinned him against the wall, and whispered what he was going to do to him.

It’s confusing that it’s turning him on a lot more than it should.

Lassiter shakes his head, hoping to snap himself out this nonsensical train of thought. Really? Shawn Spencer? Ordering him around? _Please_. Not a chance in hell.

He turns on the TV and flips through the channels to find something, _anything_ to occupy his silly little mind with. But nothing seems interesting enough. Nothing but Shawn Spencer, holding him down.

He’s cycled back to a dead channel that’s playing nothing but static. The sound of the static fills his living room, but he lets it continue, because all he can think about is Shawn Spencer, fucking him.

Dear god, maybe a lobotomy would do him good.

He turns off the TV and tosses the remote onto the coffee table, the remote sliding across the table and clattering down onto the floor. But he can’t be bothered to pick it back up. He’s busy leaning back into his couch, closing his eyes, and trying to stop himself from having any more of that Spencer thought.

_Shawn Spencer, ordering him around, holding him down, fucking him senseless._

His breath hitches as he feels the arousal creeping in, the front of his pants flexing as his cock twitches. He pulls on his tie, loosening it so he can take a deep breath, hoping it will curb his body from reacting to these perverted thoughts.

But his hands are wandering down and working at his fly, his chest rumbling as he lets out a quiet moan, his hand wrapping around his already hard cock inside his boxers.

The bastard had such dexterous hands for someone who is usually so clumsy. His fingers dancing around his holster, his hands grasping onto his body like it was his, deftly working on his ties.

The way he was pinned against the cabinets, Spencer could have done anything to him. He could have even wrapped the tie over his eyes again.

One time. That one time, he let it go on because he was curious. Spencer was being ridiculous with the notion of your senses being sharper or some psychic mumbo-jumbo like that. But maybe he was desperate enough to let Spencer do whatever to him if it meant getting his job back. _Really_ desperate.

_Spencer ordering him to close his eyes, taking his tie and tying him up._

Once Spencer took it and tied it around his eyes, all he could muster up was a measly _ow_.

It must have awakened something in him. He was a wreck that entire week, emotionally, psychologically, and mentally. It must have awakened something _extremely fucked up_ in him, because despite everything his mind is telling him, his hand is moving faster and faster, siding up and down his cock.

He imagines Spencer would be like this. Rough and fast.

Spencer would, _god_ , Spencer would be too hot headed to take anything slow and let it last. He would simply take what he wants without thinking about any consequences. He would work him so hard and fast that he would come in just a few strokes, and it wouldn’t even be satisfactory.

But maybe, just maybe he would let it happen, because Spencer would allow him to shut his brains off and simply _be_ for once without having to take charge. Spencer wouldn’t let his mind wander like this. He would be busy holding his moans back.

Spencer would make him his come like this, undignified and moaning incomprehensible things like this, oh god, Spencer would use his cock and just leave him, fuck, like he is some toy—

“Fuck, Spencer!”

And he’s coming, his heels digging into the floor and his cock spurting a giant mess over the coffee table and his shirt. He shudders as he comes down from the incredible high, his heart thumping against his chest.

Fuck.

“Okay, that is, just— disturbing,” Lassiter mutters out loud, standing up and looking around in disgust, trying to find something to wipe his hands with.

Whatever came over him, he tries not to think about how plain out wrong it is as he cleans himself up. He guesses it’s a good thing that he’s at least gotten it out of his system, but god, Spencer can’t know any of this.

It’s just a fantasy.

It’s messed up, but fantasies are just fantasies. If everyone acted on their fantasies, there’d be a whole lot more serial killers around town.

But he decides that it’s probably for the best to stay the fuck away from Spencer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this is the last chapter of 2020. See you all next year!


	7. Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to get on with their lives, putting the past behind them. Cue a department night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone ❤️ Hopefully this year is better than the last one!
> 
> Note that the one of the characters consume alcohol.

Wow, the stories Juliet can tell. It’s been a few painfully awkward and tense days, and everyone — and she means _everyone_ — at the PD has been walking on eggshells around Carlton.

Juliet of course, being his partner, has been feeling the brunt of the burden. Lord knows she’s tried to make it better for him, but all she’s managed to get was a stone cold wall on each attempt. Boarding up, bottling it down, and actively avoiding the topic. The stress of sitting next to him in the car when he’s actively repressing, but clearly thinking about whatever’s been bugging him hasn’t exactly been that great either.

No, scratch that. It’s been awful!

Really, _what_ could be so bad that he can’t talk about it, but can’t stop thinking about it? Whatever Shawn did to him — or he did to Shawn — she saw anger in his eyes, but mixed with a hint of… _guilt_.

Or it could be shame, she thinks. She _swears_ some of the death glares, it could have been Carlton giving Shawn a very intense once-over. Twice over. And thrice over. But maybe that’s just her interpretation.

And let’s not get started on that one time Carlton royally screwed up with Chief Vick. She was telling him that he needed to sort himself out, that he’s been off his game, and that maybe he could use some help from Shawn and Gus. The mention of Shawn, while she still can’t figure out _why_ exactly, made him blow up on her face.

Awkward.

 _Yeah_ , that was a pretty bad day. For everyone.

After the chief strongly recommended him to deal with it or go home, Carlton stormed out for a few hours, doing _god knows what_ , but it’s been relatively calm since. He even managed to get his head on straight enough to apprehend a drug kingpin that’s been eluding the task force for _months_ , all by himself.

So, that’s why the entire PD is out on a celebration here at a local bar right now. Shawn and Gus are here too, but so far it seems like everyone is enjoying the night out. Honestly, she’s just thankful for it and she’s going to enjoy the night and have fun. Have a few drinks, blow off some steam, and go home and take a _long_ bath.

She’s going to keep an eye on Carlton and Shawn though. _Just_ in case.

* * *

Shawn knows it’s a big night for Lassiter. But he sees tonight as his night too, because this is the first time they’ve been in the same room for non-work related reasons. Well, he’s with work people, but he’s not working and Lassie doesn’t seem to be working either for the first time in a while.

He’s given Lassiter a few days like Gus suggested. And holy cow it might have actually worked, since Lassie is currently standing in the same room as him without looking like he wants to strangle him. _Whaaat_! That’s progress. He’s feeling good, the vibes are good, and Lassie also seems to be having a rockin’ time. Everything is coming together.

It probably means tonight is the night. Tonight, he’s going to show Lassie that he’s serious, that he means business, and this thing between them, that’s real. He’s not quite sure of how that’s going to work yet, since everyone is around the star detective congratulating him. He’ll probably try to find a moment with Lassie alone.

Speaking of which, that moment seems to be right about now.

Lassiter is stumbling out the door, high from making the big bust and drunk from all the shots he has taken. Juliet instinctively tries to follow him out, but Shawn puts his hand over her shoulder, nodding and mouthing ‘I got this.’ Juliet gives him a protesting look, but thankfully, she acquiesces and goes back to sipping her drink.

When he follows him out, Shawn smiles at the sight of Lassiter trying his best to get into his car.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t even think about driving home, Lassie.”

Lassiter looks up from the car door, frowning slightly to compensate for his drunken eyesight.

“Mm not gonna drive, _Spencer_. I know all the laws, I’m the head detective,” he slurs.

Shit, Lassie must be really drunk. Too drunk, in fact. Change of plans.

“That you are, Lassie. Come on, I’m driving you home.”

Shawn tries to take the keys off of Lassiter’s hands, but Lassiter isn’t budging. When he manages to pry it out of his grasp, Lassiter stumbles backwards, almost falling onto the ground but not before Shawn can catch his arm. Lassiter looks up with another frown.

“ _Owww_. Do you even have a driver’s license?”

“Shhh, yes, Lassie. Let’s get you into your car before you pass out on the cold, hard pavements of Santa Barbara.”

“ _Fine_.”

Lassiter stumbles towards the drivers side door, and Shawn is amazed at this man’s persistence. He has to drag Lassiter back to the passenger seat, and it feels like he’s carrying one of those wacky-waving-inflatable-arm-flailing tube man they set up in front of mattress shops. It doesn’t help that Lassiter is taller than him and lanky as a stickbug, but Shawn manages to shove him into the passenger seat and buckle him in.

But before he can pull away to close the door, Lassiter grabs onto his hand. It shocks him, feeling the warm hand on him against the chilly night air. He lets out a small gasp at the unexpected contact, as if he didn’t just manhandle the fellow, but Lassiter’s grip is firm and he is looking up, trying his best to keep his eyes focused on him.

Lassiter mumbles, “You know I wasn’t texting you.”

“I—“

Shawn is at a loss of words for a moment. It’s completely unexpected to hear Lassiter bring up the _big fat mistake_ that he vehemently denied. Sure he figured it out himself by this point, but it still hurts a little bit to hear Lassiter say it out loud. He’s striking the nail in the coffin, leaving no margin of error for alternative interpretations.

 _Fuck_ , was there even a chance with Lassie to begin with?

“Yeah,” Shawn exhales, with an almost imperceptible trembling in his breath. “Figured that out by now.”

Lassiter gives a satisfied nod and lets go of his arm, as if all is resolved now that he knows that he knows. Shawn starts to regret offering to drive him home, just a little bit.

* * *

They drive in silence, Lassiter glued to the window, dozing in and out, and Shawn keeping his focus on the road.

 _Lassie wasn’t texting him_ , he knows that.

But the question is still itching at the back of his head. Does he have a chance with Lassiter, or was it all a mistake like he said? He thinks back to the station and he wants to believe that Lassie’s whimpers and moans were real, that it wasn’t just a bodily response.

He wants to believe that the spark between them wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He knows his memory is perfect, but could his emotions be clouding them?

And really, who the hell could he have been texting? Who could be at 3rd base with Lassiter over text messages?

He feels bad for taking advantage of Lassiter’s drunken state, but he figures this would be the only chance of getting Lassiter to admit something.

“Hey, so, uh, Lassie, can I ask something?”

“No, you can’t use the siren.”

“What? That’s not what I— But actually can I?”

“No.”

Another deafening silence consumes the car as Shawn tries to find the right moment.

The streets are empty and quiet at this hour. Lassiter is quietly breathing, languid and relaxed, but the still air between them feels amplified and charged with tension to Shawn for some reason. The car engine is idling as they wait for this damn red light that won’t change for some reason, and Shawn has to break the silence before he goes crazy from it; he doesn’t care whether it’s the right moment or not.

“Just out of curiosity,” he blurts out, “who were you actually texting?” he asks, wincing as he realizes that he probably shouldn’t have asked.

“Shouldn’t you know that, _psychic_?”

He’s pleasantly surprised that Lassiter’s at least responding with his usual snark. But his words—somehow without its signature bite—it almost feels like Lassiter is still in a good mood.

“I work in mysterious ways, Lassie,” Shawn jokes with ease, relieved from hearing Lassiter’s response.

Lassiter gives out a quiet laugh. “ _Right_. Well, that’s none of your business.”

But Shawn wants to make it his business. Doesn’t he realize he made it his business when he accidentally texted him like that?

He would like to believe that his texts were meant for someone like him. It’s hard to mistake the name Shawn Spencer with a girl’s name. Unless her name was Shawna, or Shirley? Those are grandma names. It must have been for someone like him.

Shawn pushes his luck. “Well, my senses are telling me that it was a guy.”

The silence that follows it makes him greatly uncomfortable.

Come on, shouldn’t he be at his throat and trying to rip his eyes out? Telling him to drop the psychic act? Come on, Lassie. Something. Anything.

But the silence continues on, and he feels like an idiot, hoping for a small acknowledgement of affection from Lassiter. A tiny morsel of attention. He feels silly pining over a man who clearly doesn’t want their relationship to go any further than where it is currently. He might even want to take a few steps back from it, in fact.

God, he’s doomed.

He doesn’t believe his ears when Lassiter responds to the question that was hanging in the air for what felt like an eternity.

“Yeah. _Yeah_ , it was a guy,” he mumbles softly.

“ _Wow_ ,” Shawn mutters. “Uh, that’s cool. I— I didn’t know you were gay, Lassie.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay to be gay, no need to be defensive if you’re secure about your masculinity.”

Shawn bites his lips when his quip gets the best of him. He knows he shouldn’t have said that, _god_ why did he say that? That’s far from being serious and forthcoming about how he feels.

He checks on Lassiter from the corner of his eyes, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to be upset at his stupid remark. His eyes are closed and he’s leaning against the door.

“But I’m not gay,” Lassiter says again, in a tone that Shawn can’t tell if he’s being wistful or just tired and drunk.

Shawn concludes that it’s probably time to stop this line of inquiry.

“Okay, got it. You are not gay.”

“I just,” Lassiter slurs, straightening himself up from the window. “I like to keep my options open.”

“Wow,” Shawn marvels. “So you mean I also had a chance all along?”

“Not gonna answer that,” Lassiter grumbles and goes back to resting on his side on the passenger side window.

“Come on! I even dropped the big bucks to send you that picture!”

And at the mention of the picture, Lassiter turns his head and glares at him. Shawn bites back a smile, because now he has a definitive confirmation that Lassiter has seen it.

And liked it, judging by the little blush he swears isn’t from the alcohol.

“You’re lucky I didn’t block your number,” Lassiter retorts, a little bashful than before.

“I’m telling you, Lassie. I’m open for business if you ever want to hit the sack,” Shawn offers again, knowing there’s nothing really to lose at this point.

“‘s inappropriate.”

“Huh, how come?” Shawn asks, smiling at the fact that Lassiter didn’t reject his pitch entirely.

But Lassiter frowns as if what Shawn has said doesn’t make any sense, and goes back to leaning against the door. He closes his eyes, and Shawn takes it as a cue to conclude the conversation.

That’s okay though. This time Shawn is grinning despite the silence. He’s decided that he’s not regretting the drive, not one bit.

* * *

When they finally pull into the driveway, Shawn pauses for a moment to look at Lassiter. He looks smaller and dare he say a little cute, slumped in the seat and leaning against the window with his arms crossed in front of him. Shawn wonders if he could sit in the car just to make the moment last a little bit longer.

But Shawn gives a gentle tap on his shoulder, knowing that Lassiter is only pretending to be asleep.

"Hey Lassie, come on, we’re home,” Shawn murmurs.

Lassiter slowly opens his eyes, the sleepy eyes gliding over Shawn’s lingering fingers, but there is no protest. He quietly unbuckles his seatbelt, his hands clinging onto the belt as it retracts slowly back.

When Lassiter stays in his seat, Shawn wonders if Lassiter is thinking the same thing as him.

“Do you need me to take you to your bedroom and tuck you in?” he jokes again. It seems to be the theme of the night.

“Thanks for the lift, but not a chance, Spencer.”

“Not even a little kiss on the forehead?”

Shawn doesn’t understand why he is compelled to make all these comments. But he finds himself looking at Lassiter with an overly dramatic puppy dog eyes, which gets a scoff out of Lassiter. A snicker, even.

“ _Go home_ , Spencer,” Lassiter urges, a hint of affection lacing his words, before finally pushing the door out.

Lassiter spills out of the car, still tipsy and uncoordinated, and heads straight for the front door. Shawn tags along behind, stopping before Lassiter when he turns back to stare at him. He knows this is probably Lassiter’s polite way of telling him to leave. He should leave. It’s a miracle that he let him come up all this way.

He tosses the keys up to Lassiter and inches backwards.

“Okay, well. I’m just gonna…” Shawn pauses, realizing he didn’t think about how he was going to get back home. “Wait here. Until Gus comes to pick me up. You go on ahead.”

But Lassiter doesn’t turn away. He plays with his bundle of keys for a little bit, like he’s counting how many keys he has on the thing, then lifts his head to gaze at Shawn’s eyes.

“You’re an idiot.”

Okay, it’s not what he expected.

“Maybe so, but you were a bigger idiot trying to drive back home yourself.”

Lassiter lets out a chuckle, and he _clearly_ doesn’t think through when he asks Shawn if he wants to come in.

Shawn’s mouth parts slightly as he considers the implication.

“No, I’m probably good. I don’t think Gus drank. Or he’s probably not drunk enough so he will be able to drive soon.”

“Don’t be stupid. I saw him downing Fireball. That shit’s disgusting.”

Shawn chuckles at that. Gus was trying to impress a girl he met from the case, and he can do the stupidest things to impress girls. This case, it was downing an entire bottle of Fireball for some reason.

“Yeah, I guess there’s no way he can recover from that,” Shawn admits.

“Come on.”

Lassiter gestures Shawn towards him.

They enter the house, Shawn keeping his distance so they’re not too close to each other in the narrow entryway. Shawn tells himself that he is going to sleep and wake up well rested tomorrow, nothing more.

He looks around the dark room, only to notice Lassiter staring at him, his eyes tired like he could fall asleep right this instant, but focused solely on him, like he’s trying to figure him out.

“I’ll take the couch, unless you want to share the bed—” Shawn stops as he realizes what he is saying. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that. Sometimes my mouth does things before I can stop it.”

Shawn doesn’t hear anything back from Lassiter. But he can hear Lassiter breathing, soft huffs escaping his mouth. He thinks maybe he should have stayed outside, walked home or _something_ , when Lassiter walks towards him and pushes him against the wall.

His face closes in, and Shawn smells the alcohol on Lassiter’s breath. He knows it cannot be possibly true but he feels drunk from breathing in the same air.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t do this,” Lassiter mutters quietly, his lips lingering so close to Shawn’s.

“Uh,” _God_. “I guess I did say there’s no reason not to before—”

“Hmm.”

Before Shawn can elaborate much, Lassiter leans in and kisses him. Shawn follows suit without hesitation, clutching onto Lassiter’s shirt, because god, it feels good to finally be kissed after the elaborate song and dance they’ve been doing. He tastes like whisky, bourbon, _fuck_ , he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. All he knows is that he wants more of this. More of Lassiter.

Lassiter is sucking on his lower lips and cradling the base of his head, moving down onto his jawline and planting his kisses onto where his pulse is throbbing. Shawn lets out a moan, letting his hand travel up to Lassiter’s hair, surprisingly soft and springy. They stumble and bump along the wall, managing to knock off the keys, and Shawn finally remembers that he shouldn’t let him make any more mistakes than he already has.

“Um, Lassie, not that I don’t enjoy this, but I just remembered— _aah_ —just remembered that you’re quite drunk, and maybe that’s kind of a reason we shouldn’t do this,” he spitballs, frantically trying to convince Lassiter to do the exact thing he doesn’t want.

Lassiter doesn’t even lift his head from Shawn’s neck to respond. “I’m not that drunk.”

His heavy breath is surrounding him, tickling his neck. _God_ , he wants this to continue so bad, but Shawn finds the strength to put his hand on Lassiter’s chest, gently pushing him away.

“I think you are, Lass.”

But Lassiter is unrelenting. He slips his hand under Shawn’s shirt and continues showering his neck with kisses, soft and needy moans filling his ears like music, his hands curving down to his back. “No, I’m not.”

“ _Please_ , Lassie.” Shawn whines, stopping Lassiter’s hands. “You know how much I want this. But we can’t— Not when you’re drunk.”

He manages to take Lassiter’s hands off and create a distance between them. Lassiter is stumbling back, swinging lightly from side to side.

“Lassie, let’s— let’s revisit this tomorrow morning. It’s really late and you have work tomorrow,” he tries to reason.

But it’s dark in the hallway and he can’t quite make out Lassiter’s face. He only hears Lassiter’s soft mumbles in response.

“Mmh.”

“ _Okay_?”

“Okay.”

“Alright then, I’m taking the couch.” Shawn says, walking around Lassiter, trying his best to keep his distance. He can’t guarantee that he will be able to exercise the same amount of restraint if he goes near Lassiter again.

Thankfully, he sees Lassiter’s shadow walking into the bedroom, the door quietly closing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah no offense to people named Shawnas and Shirleys who are not grandmas.


	8. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter was drunk as shit last night. Can he remember what he did?

Lassiter wakes up with a massive headache, and he has to sit on the bed for a while before he can see in front of his eyes again. He might have overdone with the drinking, but hell, it was a celebration and he didn’t want to cheap out on the shots.

First things first, he calls Juliet on her cell to let her know that he’s going to be a little late. The dial tone rings on as he tries to remember what happened the night before. He remembers tackling the pyramid tower of burning shots–which seems like a massive fire hazard in retrospect–but after that, everything is a blur.

He assumes his partner drove him home, seeing how he’s still in one piece, but jeez, an uneasy feeling rises in his stomach knowing that he can’t remember what happened in the middle. Based on his track record with being drunk at department outings, he hopes to god he didn’t make another embarrassing mistake.

“Carlton?”

The perky voice of his partner over the receiver brings him back.

“Yeah, O’Hara,” he says hoarsely, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, tell the chief I’ll be a little bit late.”

“Can do. Do you need anything, Carlton?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay, see you at the station then.”

“Yeah, oh, uh,” he adds. “Thanks for driving me back last night.”

For a second, Juliet goes quiet.

“Carlton, I didn’t drive you back yesterday.”

Oh no.

“What? Then how did I get back here?”

“Shawn did. Wow Carlton, you must have been _really_ drunk.”

“Spencer? Why would that idiot drive me back unless—”

Unless something _did_ happen last night between him and the idiot. Goddammit, he’s done it again. He couldn’t go near the forensics department for a _year_ after making out with the guy who he didn’t even bother to learn the name, so he’s going to have to either kill Spencer, send him off to jail, or land him in a coma, or—

“Carlton, you there?”

“Yeah, _yeah_. Just— tell the chief I’ll be a little late.”

“Will do. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

The call disconnects, but he’s still holding onto his phone, bewildered and his mind going at thousand miles per hour. But his head throbs trying to remember, the lights a little too harsh on his eyes, and he thinks he better have a glass of water before he has to lie down again permanently.

He drags one foot in front of the other over and over until he makes it out of his bedroom. A quick assessment of his surroundings turns up nothing out of the ordinary, but just as he is about to turn into the kitchen, he notices the couch in his peripheral vision.

It looks unmistakably slept in, and he discovers the trail of clothes littering the floor around it: flannel crumpled into a ball, jeans pooled on the ground like they’ve been stepped out in a hurry, and socks rolled inside out. And most importantly, a pair of boxer briefs on the coffee table.

He quickly looks down to see himself in his boxers and an undershirt he wore the day before, but Christ, the evidences so far seem to suggest something he doesn’t want to believe.

And finally, he hears the shower shutting off, the rustles behind the bathroom door so brief that he doesn’t get to prepare himself for what’s to come: Spencer walking out with a bathrobe, drying his hair with a towel.

“Oh hey, I hope you don’t mind that I’m using your bathrobe, Lassie. It’s pretty nice, by the way,” Spencer beams, his face flush from the shower.

Spencer seems all too relaxed and casual, taking a damn shower in his place and wearing his bathrobe. Maybe it’s the post-sex glow that people talk about; Spencer is upbeat as he walks back to the couch.

“But you could use some more toilet paper,” he adds, stopping before the couch and turning to face Lassiter. “Preferably those three-ply ones. I mean really? A single ply? I thought you‘d be hairy down there too.”

And dear lord, Lassiter groans at the speed and volume in which Spencer is talking at him. Way too much information is happening to him for his current state.

“Shhhhhhh! _God_ ,” Lassiter frowns as he wraps his head with his hands. “Spencer. Shut it for a moment.”

“So, do you want to continue where we left off?”

Spencer’s voice is echoing in his ears, and he can’t make heads or tails out of what he’s saying.

“Jeez, just– Quiet down, Spencer. And what the hell are you talking about?”

“Ah, I see you’ve got the classic case of I vehemently denied being too drunk but I actually drank too much last night,” Spencer quips, still shaking and drying his hair, leaving droplets of water everywhere like a goddamn wet dog.

But Lassiter can’t disagree with that statement, seeing how he can’t remember a thing about the night before. So he glares at Spencer and finds that he should take issue with him wearing his bathrobe instead.

“And take off my bathrobe,” he snarls.

Spencer stops drying his hair at his order and looks at him almost daringly. Draping the towel around his neck, he gives a quick tug on the knot that’s holding the robe together, but pauses just before it becomes undone.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for my naked body yet, Lass,” he says coyly, narrowing his eyes.

He’s right. He’s not really in the mood for anything Spencer related this morning. Especially because he’s not sure what really happened between them yet.

“You know what,” Lassiter huffs, “you can have it. I don’t want it anymore. Take it, burn it, whatever.”

Thankfully, Spencer shrugs and fastens the robe on himself as he continues walking to the couch, the almost comical pit-pat noise of his bare feet against the wooden floors echoing in Lassiter’s head. But of course, as he plops himself down, he spreads his legs wide open, the ends of the bathrobe riding up and grazing his upper thigh as he leans back.

“Jesus, Spencer!“ Lassiter shouts, swinging his head away and putting his hands in front of him to block the view. “Put your legs together!”

“Things need to air out, buddy,” Spencer scoffs without an ounce of shame. “It’s not healthy to let the moisture trap between there.”

“I— I let you in…” Lassiter mutters, his eyes looking out into nothingness as he runs his hand through his hair. But it’s a question rather than a statement, because he doesn’t have the faintest idea as to why he would ever do something like that.

“Yes. Yes you did, Lassie,” Spencer answers, picking up on the unanswered question and craning his neck to get the water out of his ears.

It gives Lassiter a clear view of the hickey on Spencer’s neck. A _damn_ hickey. He hopes to hell that it was from a random girl at the pub, because there is no way that he made that giant hickey all by himself.

His eyes must have lingered long enough for Spencer to take notice.

“Oh, this? Don’t worry,” Spencer says, lightly rubbing the hickey with his fingers. “It doesn’t hurt if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Lassiter doesn’t know what to say. He looks down on himself, feeling vulnerable and exposed, and wishes he put on a pair of pants before coming out of the room. He tries to keep his calm but he stammers instead, barely tackling the question that he’s been meaning to ask since he woke up.

“Did I— Did we—“

“Yes and no, Lassie.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lassiter exhales.

“No, Lassie. We didn’t fuck. But yes, you _did_ leave this nice hickey here,” Spencer says, all too casually like he sees nothing wrong with the situation, and a little proud that he bears the mark of Lassiter’s mistake.

Lassiter wants to sit down to process the news, but the only surface he has is fully occupied by Spencer. So he stumbles back, leaning himself on the wall, eyes darting around the floor, trying to remember _anything_ from the night before.

He remembers Spencer following him into the house, the bits and pieces of the dark hallway, feeling Spencer’s body against his, and Spencer’s lips. Oh god, Spencer’s lips.

His eyes widen as his glare arcs onto Spencer, demanding an answer, because why the hell would he do such a thing?

“Oh come on, gimmie some credit here,” Spencer huffs. “I stopped you from making any more mistakes, because I’m not going to take advantage of someone who was clearly drunk out of his mind.”

“Oh, so I kissed you first?” Lassiter scoffs with contempt.

“Han shot first, or Greedo shot later, doesn’t matter!” Spencer whines, and Lassiter squints his eyes while he tries to understand what the hell Spencer is trying to say.

“They both say the same thing, Spencer.”

“No, I’m pretty sure Han says Greedo shot first, but regardless, I stopped you from making a mistake, so no need to thank me.”

The audacity of this guy.

“So I need to thank _you_ now?”

“I _just_ said no need to thank me!”

“You know what, never mind,” Lassiter concludes, waving his hand dismissively. “I need to get to work.”

“Already?”

“I’m already late as it is, so before I kick you out naked onto the street, you better leave.”

Lassiter points to the door, resting his other hand on his hip. But with his unruly bedhead and a slouchy shirt, Shawn can’t help but kick back into the couch and bask in the sight in front of him: the shirt fits his shoulders and his height, but it hangs loose around his arms and his neck. His thighs are barely filling the width of his boxers, and Shawn thinks about how easy it would be to slip his hands in through the gap.

Even though he is barking out intimidating commands through his gritted teeth, Shawn sees through the front he is putting up for others to see. Lassiter hides himself behind his big suit and tie, adorned with his badge and guns, and maybe others fall for that stuff.

But not him.

He can see how tired he is from having to assume the role of a leader, always deciding and having to take action himself. Even though Lassiter loves his work, Shawn knows he doesn’t want to bring his public role into his personal life.

Mind you, Shawn has the entirety of the text conversation memorized in his head, but Lassiter ordering him around even in bed?

Let’s see…

_I want to touch you until you’re writhing under my hands and begging me to let you come._

_I want to hear you moan as you take my cock up your tight hole._

Okay, the second one, he wouldn’t mind that one actually. But writhing and squirming under his hand? Shawn thinks that role is more suited for Lassiter himself. It’s also the reason Shawn loves being obtuse with Lassiter; his reactions never fail to tickle his fancy. Getting so worked up and being so fussy, sometimes downright twitchy.

“What are you smiling at?” Lassiter demands, snapping Shawn out of his daydream.

He sounds squeaky. He is so right.

“Lassie,” Shawn says, adjusting himself and suppressing a moan at the back of his throat. “I still don’t have a ride.”

The only reply he gets is the most intense glare he can imagine from Lassiter. The intent behind the glare isn’t lost to Shawn, and he understands Lassiter is _this_ close to lurching in and choking him to death with his bare hands. Jeez, okay. He might be a softie, but Lassiter is the only person he wouldn’t be surprised if he actually killed him.

“I’m going, I’m going. I’ll figure something out,” Shawn resigns, collecting his clothes and huddling into the bathroom.

Shawn likes to think that he’s usually good at spotting relationship cues and segues, but he is really, _really_ stumped this time. Judging by yesterday’s Lassiter, he knows that he is not entirely opposed to this whole making out situation. Hell, it seemed like Lassie was fully onboard to get horizontal.

But morning rolls around and he doesn’t want anything to do with him again. Talk about Catholic guilt, Lassie’s got it big time, deeply ingrained in the messed up head of his.

Okay, so maybe he hasn’t been hundred percent serious with him this morning, which is probably why the situation turned sour, but he _had_ to say something. Otherwise it was going to get awkward, and that’s the last thing Shawn wants. He was trying to make Lassie feel normal, but apparently he was too lighthearted about it that it absolutely failed to make him feel normal.

Jeez. Shawn isn’t sure which beat he should be dancing to in order to get Lassiter onboard.

And maybe he should have kept his naughty thoughts at bay. That probably didn’t help with the situation either. He pushes in his half-hard cock into his boxer-briefs, patting him and telling him that his moment to shine will come soon, and opens the bathroom door.

Lassiter is sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands supporting his presumably throbbing head.

He doesn’t look over when Shawn says his goodbyes.

* * *

**_J: Gus, did you go in okay yesterday?_ **

**_G: I have my regrets but I’m ok_ **

**_J: Sorry it didn’t work out with the girl._ **

**_G: Nah, it’s fine_ **

**_J: Gus, I have to ask. Have you noticed anything wrong with Shawn?_ **

**_G: Every day, Juliet._ **

**_G: But maybe. What do u got?_ **

**_J: I’m asking because I’m about 95% sure that something’s up between Shawn and Carlton._ **

**_G: There’s always something up between them._ **

**_J: I think maybe they had a fight over text? Not sure about what though._ **

**_G: Oh man._ **

**_G: When was this, the supposed fight?_ **

**_J: So you know something!_ **

**_G: Maybe._ **

**_J: Gus, you need to tell me if you know anything! I know something’s up and it’s been driving me crazy._ **

**_G: Wow. So this is pretty big if I’m correct._ **

**_G: And kind of gross, ew._ **

**_J: Did you just figure something out?_ **

**_G: I’ll put it this way. Shawn went to Lassiter’s home once by himself. He was also asking me about how to win someone over after his dumb mistake._ **

**_J: Dumb mistake?_ **

**_G: he thought Lassiter was sexting him._ **

**_J: oh my god_ **

**_J: WOW_ **

**_J: So Shawn seems 100% willing._ **

**_G: You got that right. It’s kinda pathetic_ **

**_J: So all we need to do is make Carlton admit his feelings._ **

**_G: how do u know he’s into Shawn?_ **

**_J: I have a hunch. A very strong one._ **

**_J: Also did Shawn come back last night?_ **

**_G: No clue. I didn’t drive him back home_**.

**_J: Hmm, okay. Thanks Gus xx_ **

**_G: Don’t tell anyone I said all this. Don’t wanna get in trouble_ **

**_J: Your secret is safe with me :)_ **

* * *

Lassiter makes it to work by lunchtime, quickly grabbing a coffee before slumping down on his desk. He stares into his computer so he can catch up on work emails he missed out in the morning, but it seems like he hasn’t missed out on much. His inbox is full of junk, useless or irrelevant emails, and before he knows, he’s thinking about what Spencer has said to him this morning.

How _he_ was the one who kissed him. It sounds like nonsense to him. Why would he do that? He thought they put this stupid… _tension_ behind them a long while back.

But he is starting to remember more than just the flashes of images. The dark hallway, the kiss, and fuck, the fact that he continued to do it even after Spencer tried to stop him.

Sweet baby Jesus, he wants to crawl into a hole, or maybe have a little lie down on the floor for a bit. He’s embarrassed that he’s let himself get that drunk around Spencer, and… mildly surprised that Spencer was reciprocating. And enthusiastically so.

It was not a bad experience.

 _Oh god_ , it was actually a very good experience.

“Hey Carlton?” Juliet carefully asks, hopping back a step from Lassiter’s startled reflex. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head and riding himself of the images. “I just have a massive headache.”

“Did you take an aspirin? I have some with me.”

“No, I’m fine,” he says, waving his hands and dismissing her concern.

“It was _not_ a suggestion, Carlton,” Juliet says, handing him a foil packaging. “If you don’t take it then I have to deal with you snapping at me all day.”

She stands next to him, arms crossed indicating that she has no intention of leaving him, so Lassiter has no choice but to snatch the packaging out of her hand and gulp it down without any water.

“Happy?”

Juliet rolls her eyes, letting out a huff of air.

“ _You’re welcome_. So, last night. Did you end up…” she trails, raising her brows and nudging him with just the look in her eyes.

But Lassiter doesn’t understand what she could possibly want from him.

“What?”

“ _Okay, guess not_ ,” Juliet murmurs to herself before uncrossing her arms. “Did anything bad happen? Just worried. Because you were so drunk and all.”

She’s smiling nervously, and while her concern for his wellbeing isn’t foreign, Lassiter wonders if Juliet has heard something from Spencer about the night before. Technically something bad did happen, but he lies anyways.

“No.”

But Juliet is still staring down at him, her eyes showing her disbelief and her little pout disapproving his lie.

“Yes, kind of. Not really, no. There’s nothing to talk about, O’Hara.”

“ _Hmm_.“ Juliet squints, picking up on his blatant lie and sitting herself down on his desk.

Lassiter knows her intimidation tactics, but he still ends up showing that he is falling for it, pushing his chair out to create a distance between them. Juliet sinks her hook in further in response and continues on with her interrogation, trapping him in this conversation.

“Carlton, normally I wouldn’t be this nosy, and I totally get that this is unwarranted, but I _really_ think you should just—“

“—I should what?” he snaps, utilizing his only means of defense.

“Uh, well, it’s not good to bottle things down. And if you can’t tell me what that is, it’s completely fine. I understand.” Juliet pauses, biting her lips before continuing.

“But I do think that you should tell Shawn what you were feeling— and by feelings I mean anger. Or _passion_ ,” she adds carefully, while glancing at Lassiter to gauge his comfort level.

“Um, I mean passion as in passion for arguing? Or maybe that’s not the best word. The desire… to, um, anyways! You should talk to him, and I think you should equally listen to what Shawn has to say about the subject.”

He stares at her with tired eyes, not knowing what to say back to her in this situation. Juliet looks at him expectantly, but Lassiter blinks his eyes slowly a few times before shaking his head to respond to her life coaching.

“Yeah, I’m not following you on that, O’Hara.”

“Okay, well, I’m just saying an honest, civil conversation between people is always good. Like you and me right now, engaging in… a dialogue. I think if you did it with Shawn too— I mean, talk with Shawn, you will actually work whatever it is out.”

“I don’t—”

“—I’m telling you this as your friend, but also as your coworker who will have to deal with your mess every day,” she says firmly, before getting up and giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder. “So please, I hope you consider what I just said. I’ll leave you to get back to… catching up with your memories.”

And she’s off, and Lassiter lets out a deep breath, a little dumbfounded at the fact that she has somehow managed to figure out what’s been going on (or at least that’s what he gathers), and confused at the whirlwind of weirdness that she has managed to dump on him in this short span of time.

Feelings, passion, and desires? Talk to Spencer and listen to him? Lassiter isn’t quite clear about what she means by all that, but deep down he knows she’s right on at least one regard: ignoring it and walking away from it isn’t going to work.

Clearly, the method backfired on him, culminating in the events of last night. _God_ , last night. There is no way he can forget any of it. He definitely doesn’t want to repeat the same mistake of bringing the station down, blowing up on the chief, and risking his reputation and his career.

Something does need to get cleared up between them.

Now that he thinks of it, he’s impressed and thankful that Spencer has actually stopped him from going further; it seems Spencer isn’t a giant ass after all.

And for that one redeeming quality, despite the plethora of other horrid qualities that come with Spencer, he figures he owes him to at least hear out what he has to say about the subject. He should explain himself too, his stupid actions and terrible inhibitions and all.

He doesn’t know what he would get out of it. Is he hoping for things to go back to normal? Is he hoping to continue down the path, wherever it may lead? Would Spencer even take any of this seriously?

Damn, his head hurts thinking about all these prospects.

Thank god the aspirin is kicking in at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juliet coming in with the Cupid’s bow ❤️


	9. Buzz (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn gets another text from Lassiter.

Shawn is sitting on Lassiter’s text again. Sitting? Well, he’s sitting on his bed, tapping his phone against his forehead, because the text is more ominous than the first time Lassiter texted him in the middle of the night like this.

**_can we talk?_ **

He has no doubt that Lassiter knows who he’s texting this time—they do indeed have a lot of stuff to talk about. Lassiter isn’t asking him if he’s up at least, but Shawn is hesitant about responding to the text willy-nilly. That’s how he ended up in this mess the first time after all.

Well, maybe he’s being facetious, but he decides to err on the side of caution anyway. First time for everything.

**_r u textin the right person? this is shewn spencer_ **

Lassiter’s response comes back as quickly as it did the first time. He’s doubling down on his question.

**_I know. Can we talk in person?_ **

He wishes Lassiter could give him a hint about what that talk would be about. Because if it’s going to be Lassiter serving up a restraining order, he doesn’t want to be a part of that conversation. But a part of him wants to believe that there is a chance (a slim one if at all) that Lassiter wants to talk about the strange yet _extremely hot_ feelings they have been experiencing with each other.

At least he would like to think that Lassiter found his advances hot, but who is he kidding, he’s pretty sure that it’s not likely to happen. Lassiter seemed pretty bummed about the fact that he kissed him when he was drunk.

It makes it so much harder to respond to his message.

**_gotta check my schedule_ **

Shawn hopes that his message will give him some more time to think things through. But jeez, Lassiter must have developed motors on his fingers, judging by the frequency of the buzzes he is getting right now.

**_I know you have nothing going on so quit stalling._ **

**_We’ll meet at a neutral location._ **

**_Tom Blair’s, now._ **

Falsely assuming that Shawn has nothing better to do aside, he finds it odd that Lassiter wants to meet at a pub. It’s a bold choice, going back to a pub after the events from the night before. It hardly seems like a neutral location, and it’s starting to feel that this is perhaps a hostage exchange, where he doesn’t get a say about the terms of the exchange.

But Shawn agrees to it. It doesn’t seem like he has a choice anyway.

**_ok gimme 10_ **

Shawn plans on staying sober but he decides against taking his motorcycle, just in case. The walk should be good for him too, to clear his head and prepare himself for what’s to come.

He shoves his phone inside his pants pocket and walks to the door. But he pauses for a moment right before he crosses the threshold, and scrunches his nose as he deliberates something.

He runs back inside and rummages through his drawer, fishing something out and shoving it in his other pocket. With a lighter step, he’s running back out again for real this time.

Call it a lucky charm.

* * *

Shawn makes it to the bar in a little over ten minutes. He peers into the bar, but he doesn’t see Lassiter inside. He wonders if he should wait outside, but just as he’s about to push the door to get in, he hears a honk behind him.

The car in question drives up along the sidewalk, and the windows roll down slowly to reveal his favorite detective.

“Get in,” he barks.

“Lassie? What happened to the neutral location?” Shawn asks, putting his forearms on the open widow and peering into the driver’s side. “You could drug me and put me in the back of your trunk for all I know.”

“ _What_? No. Why would I do that?” Lassiter frowns, noticing the image Shawn is creating by leaning on his open window. “Just get in the car, Spencer. Before someone sees.”

Shawn shrugs and takes his time to get around the front of the car, seating himself in the passenger seat with feigned leisure. He looks at Lassiter to ask what the deal is with this clandestine operation, but instead of the talk he promised, Lassiter puts his arms around Shawns headrest, looking out back to turn his car out from the parallel park.

“Whoa, where are we going?”

“We’re just going to go out to an emptier lot,” Lassiter responds, as if that makes Shawn feel any safer about this situation. “Buckle up.”

“But why?” Shawn asks, buckling up his seatbelt as told, but Lassiter doesn’t answer.

Shortly, he is puling the car into a dark and empty lot, illuminated by a single street lamp and the car’s headlight. The wire fences around the lot are warped and tilted, and the concrete on the ground is cracked and uneven with crumbling and faded paint lines; it feels like a place where a hostage exchange would take place. Or a contract killing. He’s not sure which prospect he would like better.

Shawn stares at Lassiter to find some assurance while occupying this unfamiliar space, but he fails to read anything meaningful off of him. Sure he looks agitated, a little on edge, but the dead silence instead of his usual outburst keeps him on his toes, guessing what he is about to do.

Lassiter looks around the lot and turns off the car, the vibrations from the rumbling engine dying down, the lamp slowly dimming, and the place outside starting to feel more serial killerish than before. The car tinkles as hot the metal contracts as the engine cools, and after that, Shawn feels like he’s sitting in an absolute vacuum.

The inside of the car is so quiet that he hears his own clothes rustling as he fidgets in the seat.

“I figured we could use some privacy,” Lassiter breaks the silence, reading Shawn’s concerned face. “I didn’t want people eavesdropping on my business. _Our_ business.”

“Awh, that’s kinda romantic I guess. Our business.” Shawn tries to break the ice, but Lassiter seems determined to get to business.

“Just shut up. I am going to talk and you will listen. And when I’m done, you are going to talk, and we are going to walk away from this, _unharmed_. Those are the terms,” he asserts, rapidly chaining one sentence after another to lay out the plan of attack.

Yowza.

It feels like Lassiter is listing out the steps more for himself rather than to explain how tonight is going to go for Shawn. He is putting his best facade to show his indifference as he waits for Shawn’s reply, but Shawn can read the nervousness he is trying to mask behind those eyes. Lassiter’s breath is ever so trembling, light film of sweat forming on his forehead.

They are both so out of their comfort zone.

“Okay Lassie,” Shawn answers, pressing down his urge to pull on the handle and bolt out of the car. “Uh, so you’re going first, right?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, guess so.”

But despite clearly outlining the steps, Lassiter stays silent, staring out the window into the dark and empty lot. Shawn can’t help but look around with his eyes in the silence, trying not to move and make any unnecessary noises. He’s not sure why, but it somehow feels like the right thing to do, staying silent. His eyes glance around the glove compartment, the parking break, the cup holder, and a quick glance at Lassiter’s face.

Right back to the glove compartment where he started.

But Lassiter is still staying silent. Shawn looks at Lassiter again, his eyes batting at him to encourage him to say _something_.

“I will say three things,” Lassiter finally blurts out, putting the heels of his hands on the steering wheel. “First, I’m sorry I blew up on you, Spencer. It was unprofessional of me. I probably should have straightened it out like a man, but you were just getting on my nerves,” he huffs.

“Apology-non-apology accepted. Good to see you taking the middle road, Lassie,” Shawn responds, finding the ‘classic Lassiter’ underhand remark amusing.

But Lassiter doesn’t seem to find it amusing, judging by his hands gripping onto the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles are turning white, and his head drooping down between his outstretched arms as he forcefully breathes out.

“God. Shut your hole for _one goddamn second_ , Spencer,” he says, gritting his teeth. He lets out another sharp breath before he lets go of the steering wheel and leans back into his seat, his head digging into his headrest as he looks at the roof of his car.

“And second, I should apologize for not handling myself better when I was drunk—”

“—Lassie, believe me, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

Lassiter whips his head down towards Shawn, glaring at him for the interruption. Shawn sees his glare wavering as he realizes what has been said, the shock lasting only for a second before he finds his cool again to drive the conversation forward. To be done with the part where he has to talk.

“I’m still talking,” he says, but this time with more restraint.

“And last,” he continues, his breath trembling as if he hasn’t practiced this far into his line yet. “I… I guess I should be grateful that you stopped me from making more mistakes. I can see that you are mature enough when you need to be, coming here to talk and all. So I’m acknowledging that.”

He purses his lips and nods to himself, seemingly relieved that he is finally finished with the ordeal. The car is so quiet that when Lassiter lets out a sigh, Shawn can hear the anxiety that wound him up leaving his body. It also relaxes him a little bit, seeing Lassiter’s long fingers loosely hanging on the bottom of the steering wheel instead of gripping onto things with force.

“Can I go now?” Shawn asks, seeking for Lassiter’s eyes, but unable to.

“You may,” Lassiter answers. That was the deal after all.

“Lassie, I want to say you have nothing to be sorry about kissing me,” Shawn says it again, taking the chance to gaze directly into Lassiter’s eyes when his head turns to his direction. “God, do you have _any_ idea how hot it was when you did that to me?” Shawn falters, wondering if it was the same for him as well. “It was torture, and I had to stop you.”

“I—“

“Lassie, this entire time, none of what I did was a joke. God, I’ve always wanted you, and you’ve just made it so much harder to stop wanting you ever since you sent me that text.”

“Spencer—“

“Do you think I would have responded to your texts as a joke?”

Lassiter presses his eyes close, taking a deep breath, processing everything that’s been revealed to him in a plain manner. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly as he responds to Shawn’s question with a serious face.

“It’s not that far from the realm of possibility.”

But it lacks the signature bite. They stare at each other for a minute before Shawn catches the joke, Lassiter catching Shawn’s realization and his furrowed brows relax and raise as he smiles. It’s the genuine smile that he doesn’t like to show around others, because the wrinkles around his eyes make him look soft and approachable.

“Come on man, I’m hurt. I have standards!” Shawn giggles. “I’m not going to answer every to single person who hits me up at three in the morning. I wouldn’t have responded if I weren’t interested in you to begin with,” he says, burying his face in his hands before sliding them up into his hair as he lifts his face.

“I genuinely thought you were going to have phone sex with me,” Shawn admits, slightly embarrassed at his past actions.

“After finding out that you weren’t texting me, I had a choice. I could have let it go, but instead I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Lassie. I realized how amazing it would be to be with you… and show you how much I want you.”

“But—“ Lassiter stammers, his face puzzled. “Why?”

“Why? Hah, I don’t know. I can’t control who I fall for, Lassie. All I know is that I want to, _you know_. Take care of you.”

Lassiter lets out quiet gasp, hearing what Shawn is saying. Shawn turns his head to face Lassiter, because he wants to think that he understands the meaning behind the gasp. That Lassiter does like the idea of being taken care of, that he wants Shawn to be the one to do that for him, and that he could trust Shawn to do the right thing for him.

And god, the silent but charged moment that hangs between them tells Shawn that he should just lean in and kiss Lassiter. He wants to, but he holds himself back, unsure whether it can be construed as part of the deal. He wants to get this right.

“I know this is the part we walk away unharmed, Shawn says, unbuckling his belt. “But I don’t want to Lassie.”

He turns his body towards Lassiter, and Shawn can see it in his eyes that he wants something more, and he hopes Lassiter can see that he wants it too.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

“I— I don’t know,” Lassiter responds, his forehead wrinkling as his brows raise up.

Shawn shifts his weight, kneeling on his seat as he puts his hands down on the center console. He asks again, because he knows that Lassiter knows the answer deep down.

“Do you trust me?”

“I—“ Lassiter responds softly, his eyes still wide open and his mouth still hanging open from the vowel. “Uh—“ he fumbles, but he manages give out a slow nod, his brows softening and his eyes fluttering close.

Shawn inches his face closer until he feels Lassiter’s trembling breath on his lips, pausing for a moment before pressing their lips together. Lassiter’s lips are surprisingly soft, and god, it feels like he’s kissing him for the first time.

Shawn moves slowly and carefully, but Lassiter pulls onto Shawn’s collars, also turning his body and deepening the kiss. It’s so much better knowing they both want this, knowing that they’re both sober and willing. Lassiter is shyer with his kiss compared to when he was drunk, but he still manages to drive Shawn crazy. In fact, Shawn finds that it’s not enough to be simply kissing Lassiter.

Shawn stumbles across the center console and straddles Lassiter, the seat a little too forward for there to be enough space, but he likes it this way. He likes that he has no choice but to be so close to Lassiter. He’s pushing the sides of Lassiter’s legs together to make room for his knees, and Lassiter opens his body up and lets him, seating Shawn on his lap, snaking one arm behind his back and his other wandering around to find the lever to pull the seat back.

The recoil from the seat moving separates them for a minute, but Lassiter jerks forward to kiss Shawn again. He whimpers when the seatbelt catches him in his place, and Shawn smiles at Lassiter’s face, surprised and upset that he’s unable to move forward. With Lassiter securely seated, Shawn closes in on him again, this time holding onto his collars and pulling himself in for another kiss, then lowering his mouth down.

He lightly suckles on his jawline, the tip of his nose tickling Lassiter’s earlobes. Lassiter is moaning, his head falling back onto the headrest, giving Shawn better access to his neck. Shawn tugs at his tie and pops the buttons so he can delve deeper into his neck, and god, Lassiter is so warm, so sensitive to his touches that he’s shivering and shuddering every time he grazes by. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

He wants to return the favor that left him with a giant hickey, But Shawn remembers to hold himself back so he doesn’t leave a visible mark on Lassiter’s neck. Shawn moves his mouth even lower, closer to Lassiter’s collarbone, feeling the top of Lassiter’s chest hair tickling his lower lips.

“God, Spencer—“

Lassiter rolls his hips up towards Shawn, but because of Shawn’s legs and the seatbelt holding him in place, it turns out to be a tiny squirm, desperate for contact but not quite meeting it. It’s so worth seeing Lassiter squirming like this, letting himself show what he wants, and god, Shawn can’t deny that he’s having a little too much fun with this.

As much as Shawn wants to see Lassiter squirm, he lowers his hand down to Lassiter’s pants, the contact drawing a sigh of relief from Lassiter’s mouth. Lassiter bucks his hips again, pressing himself closer to Shawn’s hand, but Lassiter doesn’t seem to get that as he jerks harder the seatbelt locks him in his place even more. It’s incredibly hot, Lassiter moaning under his touches and desperately and silently squirming for more. God, Shawn could get used to this.

He pulls on Lassiter’s belt buckle, but Lassiter blurts out, stopping Shawn’s hand for the first time tonight.

“Not— not here Spencer. It’s against the law—”

Normally he would say screw the law, but Shawn agrees. He remembers he has so much more planned for Lassiter than a quickie in a parking lot.

“We can go to my place?”

Lassiter shakes his head vigorously.

“I’m not having sex at a laundromat,” he says, his mouth dry and voice cracking. “My place.”

And Shawn stops to take a good look at Lassiter, because holy hell, they _are_ going to have sex according to him. Finding no issue with it, he nods and quickly jumps back into his seat without delay.

Lassiter pulls his seat forward, Shawn buckles himself in, and Lassiter—looking like sex with his tie askew, shirt crumpled, and a hard on bulging out of his thin dress pants—pulls the car out of the parking lot within seconds.

* * *

Lassiter feels like a horny teenager, almost having had sex in a car. He’s never had the experience, but the fogged up window that’s slowly clearing up as they drive makes him feel a little bit naughty, if not downright slutty.

Spencer is silent, but every time Lassiter glances over at him, he’s staring at him with his mouth hanging open, smiling back at him every time their eyes meet.

It’s ridiculous, but the anticipation keeps his cock hard, and he’s pressing on his pedal harder than he probably should. He’s not sure what he’s signing himself up for, but he’s come too far to think about the ramifications of his decisions.

It goes against his common sense, but he feels that he could trust Spencer to do what’s right for him. At least, he hopes that all the sweet things Spencer whispered to him during the various encounters come true.

Thankfully the car ride is just a blink away.

When they reach the door to his place, Spencer lines up behind him, standing so close to him that he feels his breath against the back of his neck. His entire body tingles so much that he fumbles with his keys as he tries to calm his breath, but as soon as he gets the door open, he has no choice but to give up on keeping his calm.

Spencer pushes him inside, kicking the door closed behind them. This time, Spencer presses him against the wall, leaving a wet, sloppy trail down Lassiter’s neck, no restraints, no reservations. With the sudden impact and Spencer’s mouth sending a sudden jolt to his groin, a loud groan escapes Lassiter’s mouth.

“I want to taste you so bad, Lassie,” Spencer says, his voice coming out almost as a whine.

Fuck, the thought of that makes Lassiter nearly come in his pants.

Masturbation aside, he hasn’t had physical contact with another man in a while. It’s always been Spencer, touching him, hugging him, pushing him against the wall, whispering all these sweet things into his ears, and god, now devouring him like it’s his god given right.

It’s embarrassing, but he’s not so sure if he’s going to last long enough after the months of foreplay they’ve been doing.

“Bedroom,” he gasps. “Now.”


	10. Do you trust me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lassiter finally lets Shawn in ;) (Double entendre fully intended)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about very explicit sexual content. It is like an incredibly specific mix of strange kinks (?)
> 
> I don’t even know. I have added the tags to reflect what’s about to come in this chapter, so proceed at your own risk!

“Bedroom,” Lassiter gasps. “Now.”

Shawn flashes a smirk, hearing Lassiter unable to string a complete sentence, and pulls his arm down the hallway into the bedroom.

He pushes Lassiter towards the foot of the bed as he kisses him, his mouth hungry for more and Lassiter’s mouth playing catch-up, the kiss slowly turning sloppier and sloppier until Lassiter resigns to moaning as Shawn rakes his fingers through his hair and kisses his neck. His hands slide down and quickly work on unbuttoning Lassiter’s shirt, his mouth lowering down to his collarbones as his hands move.

When he’s finished with the last button, he pushes the fabric away and the shirt falls onto the ground unceremoniously, Lassiter shivering as he comes into contact with the cool air. Feeling Lassiter’s bare chest against his hand, Shawn steps back and admires his handiwork, taking in the sight of the man in front of him.

He can see Lassiter’s chest moving up and down, so alive and dynamic, so lean yet filled in with muscles in the right places. His pale skin contrasts with the dark hair that he’s always seen peeping out of his shirt, but when he sees the dark trail swirling and leading down to his lower belly, he can’t wait to see what’s waiting for him.

God. It’s a crime that he hides all this behind his suit.

He eagerly reaches out for the belt buckle, but Lassiter stops him again, putting his hands on his wrist.

“Second thoughts?” Shawn asks, a little out of breath from excitement.

“No. Just,” Lassiter pants, looking intently at Shawn’s face. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Lassiter’s eyes are blown wide, his lips parted and his breath shaky with anticipation and nervousness. Shawn can’t help but chuckle, seeing Lassiter so unsure but so willing. He wants to assure him, keep him safe, but most importantly make him feel _so_ good.

“Lassie, don’t worry. It’s fairly straightforward. You put your right hand in, you put your right hand out, you put your left hand in, and shake—“

“Stop,” Lassiter frowns. “That’s hokey pokey.”

“Well, that’s what it’s all about, really.”

“I’m not joking.”

Shawn smiles at Lassiter’s little pout. How could he resist moments like these, where the set up is so perfect that he _has_ to tease Lassie just a little bit. His reactions always make it so much harder not to poke fun at him, and god, he can’t wait to see what other reactions he can bring out of Lassiter with what he has in store for him.

“Shh, Lassie, I know what I’m doing. All you need to do is to let me take care of you,” he says assuredly.

“Knowing what to do from porn doesn’t count.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

* * *

Spencer pushes Lassiter, and his balance is knocked off that he ends up stumbling back down onto the bed with an undignified yelp. With a sharky smile, Spencer quickly climbs onto the bed and straddles him, pressing his hand on Lassiter’s chest to keep him in place, his other hand undoing his belt buckle in one swift motion.

God, it’s hard to believe that it’s actually happening when Spencer’s hand reaches into his boxers. Lassiter lifts his head to see Spencer looking down on him, loosely grasping onto his cock.

It’s such a forbidden image he has denied himself for so long, and by _god_ , his brain is trying its best to catch up while his shuddering breath is trying its best to keep the oxygen pumping to his brain. Spencer’s mouth is now hovering over his cock, and as he’s savoring the warmth and anticipation, Spencer envelopes the entire length in one go, without any warning.

He falls back again with a groan, his eyes fluttering close and his back arching against the bed. His hands travel down to grab onto Spencer’s hair, but his arms fall short and he ends up grasping onto a fistful of the sheets instead.

“Oh, god fuck, Spencer!“ Lassiter exclaims, wondering if he’s going to embarrass himself by coming so soon, but with a loud pop, Spencer removes his mouth and firmly grips onto the base of his cock.

“Really, Lassie? I’m sucking your dick and you’re still calling me Spencer?” he says, staring up to Lassiter with one of his eyebrows cocked.

Lassiter whimpers at the loss, confused about Spencer’s change in attitude. He tilts his body up and props himself up on his elbows to look at Spencer.

“Fuck, Spencer, does it matter? It’s your name,” he snaps.

“You also call my dad Spencer, and I’m not really about to blow someone when I— just call me Shawn.”

“My God, fine, _Shawn_ , just suck my dick again!” Lassiter complains, in all honesty. But _Shawn_ , is being his usual annoying self.

“Ooh, testy, I like that. But I need my magic word.”

“Magic w— God, do you ever shut up?” Lassiter implores, plopping back down on the bed in frustration.

“No,” Shawn responds, clearly enjoying this torture.

He pumps his hand slowly with his thumb dragging on the underside of Lassiter’s cock, and Lassiter’s eyes press shut again as his brows furrow. Lassiter lets out a groan when Shawn swipes his thumb on the head to smear the precome, the slippery slick thumb tickling the head of his cock.

“Ah— Shawn, just, can you—” he stammers, the moans on the back of his throat punctuating his words.

“What was that?” Shawn hums, looking up and cupping his ear with his free hand. His other hand on his cock is moving slow, deliberately and purposely keeping away from the tip.

“Shawn—”

“Hmm, can’t hear you, Lass,” he teases, this time taking his hand completely off of Lassiter’s cock.

The bastard climbs up the bed and lies down on his side next to him, his arm propping his head up, still looking down on Lassiter’s face with that devious expression.

His hips are bucking into the empty air, it feels so damn embarrassing to need something so badly like this. Lassiter keeps his eyes shut, his hands covering his face so he could at least hide some part of his needy self.

He ends up begging for Shawn’s touches regardless.

“God— just, _please_. Shawn, I want, I need you to. Please.”

With the pathetic pleading and begging, Shawn is finally rolling on top of him and straddling his stomach again, putting his hand through his hair and lightly mussing it before bringing it down to caress his cheek.

“Atta boy, Lass,” he whispers into Lassiter’s ear, his voice deep and downright dirty. “That wasn’t too hard.”

Lassiter feels his face redden even more when he hears the special nickname Shawn has just given him. He’s still embarrassed to look into Shawn’s eyes, but he finds himself leaning into Shawn’s hand on his cheek. God, the feeling is so strange that he can’t quite put his words to it, but all he knows is that he’s incredibly turned on by everything Shawn has been doing to him so far.

“Lassie,” Shawn says, slowly dragging his finger down on Lassiter’s chest and stomach. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret because you’ve been such a good boy.”

_Good boy._

Lassiter finds himself blushing again when he hears the pet name. And with Shawn’s hands wrapping around his aching cock, oh god, he’s not sure if he cares what the secret is really.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight,” Shawn declares, pumping his cock with a gentle twist and pull.

“What?” Lassiter blurts out, his eyes snapping open. He tries his best to refute Shawn’s assumption, but Shawn’s hands are unrelenting. “Ah— why do you— oh jeez— why do you get to—”

“Just listen to yourself, Lassie,” Shawn purrs, his hands edging him closer then letting it go, repeating the damn torture over and over so that it becomes harder to focus on anything else.

“ _Aah_ — that’s unfair. If I were—“

“Yes, if you were on top yada yada. But the fact is I’m up here, and I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Lass. I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’re gonna wish you’d done this a lot sooner.”

Lassiter tries to come up with a retort, but dear god he can’t find his voice because Shawn has moved onto kissing his balls, lightly sucking on each of the sensitive flesh.

“Shhh, Lass, that’s it,” Shawn murmurs. “God, you’re so sensitive, Lassie. So hot.”

When he finally drags his tongue upwards and takes his cock in his mouth again, Lassiter can’t string anything—coherent or incoherent—together out loud anymore. So much for arguing that he should be on top. Lassiter resigns and enjoys Shawn’s tongue, mouth, and the hot puffs of breath.

“Do you like getting your ass licked, Lass?” Shawn asks breathlessly, nudging his balls with his nose.

“I don’t know. But I want you to do it,” he blurts out impatiently, not entirely aware of what he is agreeing to. All he wants is Shawn to do his damn _fucking_ that he has promised, because every single movement from Shawn has been torturous so far — even if it’s incredibly good, it has been frustratingly slow.

Shawn picks up on Lassiter’s urgency and lets out a chuckle. “That is so hot. God, Lassie, you’re in for a treat.”

He moves onto spreading Lassiter’s legs apart and drapes them over his shoulder. Lassiter feels Shawn’s hand gently pushing his cock and his balls out of the way, his face nudging in for the spot between his legs. And he’s not sure what he should be feeling, but feeling Spencer clearly enjoying his hole, the hole that he will presumably fuck, _god_ , his body is melting and he finds himself becoming hungry for Shawn’s cock in his ass.

He’s mewling like a baby with his legs draped over Shawn’s shoulders and feeling Shawn’s tongue pressing its way in, warm, wet, and soft. He hides his face behind his arms again, so _fucking_ embarrassed that he’s enjoying this so much.

“Aw, a little shy are we?” Shawn asks, straightening himself up. He puts his hand on Lassiter’s arms, gently tugging them away.

“No, I’m not,” Lassiter recoils, turning his face to the side, but unable to hide his goddamn face, blushing pink and sweaty from getting eaten out like that.

“It’s okay Lassie, just look at me,” Shawn coos, slowly untangling Lassiter’s arm away from his face. “I wanna see you enjoy this. I _want_ you to enjoy this, Lassie. Are you?”

Lassiter huffs for a moment to collect himself and turns to face Shawn, sheepishly finding Shawn’s eyes this time. “I think so, Shawn.”

“Good. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about Lassie, you’re so fucking hot, and god, I could eat you out for days,” Shawn sighs contentedly, caressing the side of his face.

Lassiter feels his heart skip a beat, because the softness and care isn’t quite what he was expecting from Shawn. He finally finds the guts to fully look at Shawn, and he looks absolutely gorgeous—it’s ridiculous but he swears Shawn is moving in slow motion when he takes his shirt off over his head.

With that, he becomes suddenly aware of his own nakedness, seeing Shawn fully dressed except for his recently discarded shirt. God, it makes him feel a little bit weak in his legs, seeing Shawn’s broad shoulders and strong arms that are about to come in contact with his body.

* * *

As he works on losing his pants, Shawn finds Lassiter gazing at him with a bewildered and disheveled look that makes him look so much more delicious. He smiles at Lassiter before stepping out of his pants, knowing the tight-fitting boxer briefs does nothing to hide the outline of his cock. He gives it a cursory stroke over his underwear, feeling Lassiter’s eyes on him, hearing his breath hitch when he tightens the fabric to reveal more of the silhouette of his cock.

Lassiter gulps as Shawn gets back on the foot of the bed. But for someone who’s been so shy this entire time, Lassiter easily and eagerly spreads his legs for him, bending his knees for Shawn to wrap his arms under it. Shawn doesn’t have to do much other than place himself between Lassiter’s legs, because Lassiter is lifting his hips and letting Shawn bury his face back in his tight hole.

“God lassie, so eager,” Shawn sighs, his hot breath driving Lassiter mad, the stimulation almost too much for him to handle.

Lassiter responds encouragingly, almost begging to get Shawn back on his body. “Please— please keep going, Shawn.”

Shawn dutifully gives it a lick, swirling around and teasing it, making Lassiter’s hole slick and ready. Lassiter lets out a groan and pushes back, and Shawn loves that he can make Lassiter squirm and moan like this.

Lassiter feels Shawn’s stubbles scratching on his inner thigh as he moves, and Shawn’s mouth feels so fucking good that he almost misses the rustling and the pop of a plastic cap. When he realizes what it is, he feels a slick finger playing at his entrance.

“Oh, Shawn—“ he panics.

“Relax, Lassie,” Shawn murmurs, slowly rubbing up and down the length of Lassiter’s inner thigh with his free hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He feels Shawn’s finger tickling around the hole, repeating the motion of his tongue. Lassiter holds his breath, waiting for Shawn to claim his hole, but Shawn doesn’t press in. Instead of taking what he wants without thinking about the consequences, he waits for Lassiter to relax. God, it feels strange to see Shawn so patient and considerate, but it is also a major factor that’s turning him on so much right now.

As Shawn moves his finger around, lightly teasing him, Lassiter can relax and ease into the feeling. He lets Shawn press in, one finger down to the knuckle. Shawn slowly wiggles his finger around, his brows furrowing and his tongue peeking out like he’s trying to find something, and dear god, it seems like Shawn has managed to find what he’s looking for.

Lassiter gasps as he feels the pressure, and he is surprised by his cock leaking a generous amount of precome from that single stroke. Shawn is curling his finger up, pressing very lightly and slowly, the pressure building up more and more, his body tensing up until his muscles can’t take it any more.

“Please, Shawn—“ Lassiter begs.

“I can stop if you want,” Shawn says, so cocksure and proud of his doing. “Just say the word.”

But he doesn’t want it to stop. He feels a little uncomfortable, tender, and vulnerable, but he wants to give into the overwhelming feeling. Shawn might be bastardly, but Lassiter hasn’t felt anything like this, moaning and writhing involuntarily every time Shawn moves his finger.

“N— no. God, it feels good,” he responds, his breath rough.

“So good, Lassie,” Shawn says, moving his finger again and pressing in another digit with ease.

He shivers as he pants, and Christ, Shawn might be a damn psychic after all, because he’s easing up when Lassiter feels anything short of pleasure. Shawn continues on with the damn torture, pressing on his spot a small amount, and completely letting off so the feeling can recharge and amplify each time.

“God, Lassie, I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Shawn groans, and Lassiter agrees.

“Then stop fucking teasing me, Shawn.”

Shawn’s mouth curls up into a smile as he draws his fingers out. “And do what instead?”

Lassiter knows what Shawn is doing, that bastard. But he doesn’t have the time and energy to get mad at the teasing. He knows what he wants to say, he knows he just wants Shawn to start fucking him like he promised, but he finds it incredibly difficult to admit the fact.

Shawn lowers his body and lines up his cock with Lassiter’s. “Do what?” Shawn asks again, slowly grinding his hips against Lassiter’s. It’s incredibly unfair, but Lassiter can’t deny it anymore.

“Fucking fuck me already, Shawn,” Lassiter grumbles, before adding the magic word. “Please.”

“There it is,” Shawn smiles.

He fishes out the condom from his jeans on the floor, and Lassiter briefly wonders if Shawn has brought all of that in anticipation. But he’s quickly mesmerized by Shawn pulling his boxer-briefs and freeing his cock (fuck, there’s that cock), ripping the wrapper and rolling the condom over it, and squeezing more lube on. He sees the girth, clearly thicker than just the two of Shawn’s fingers, but god, when he feels Shawn’s cock lining up to his hole, he just wants the damn thing in him already.

Shawn kneels between his legs and positions himself over Lassiter, putting his weight on his left hand by his shoulder and his other hand guiding his cock inside. Fuck, Lassiter doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore when Shawn finally pushes in, the burning sensation knocking his breath out. He expected it to hurt, but holy hell, he thinks maybe this whole thing was a mistake, feeling his chest tightening up.

Shawn leans in closer, putting their bodies flush and petting Lassiter’s hair.

“Shh, Lassie, you’re doing just fine,” he whispers into his ear. “Just breathe, in and out, shhh, I’m not moving until you’re okay.”

He follows Shawn’s voice, slowly controlling his breath as he adjusts to the pain. As he relaxes his body, he can finally feel Shawn’s warm cock twitching inside him, and _god_ he feels so full and so _good_. There is no reason for this to feel this good.

“There you go, Lassie. God, I didn’t expect you to be such a good boy.”

Whatever the loving fuck is happening, Lassiter doesn’t understand why Shawn’s pet names are affecting him so much; he’s moaning just at the nickname. He can’t believe he likes being Shawn’s good boy, taking his entire cock up his ass.

Shawn’s wraps his arms around Lassiter’s shoulders, closely hugging him as he pushes himself in inch by inch until he’s all the way in buried inside. They let out a moan at the same time, feeling each other’s skin and the heat.

God, Lassiter is overwhelmed by all these new sensations, but Shawn pulls in for a kiss, mixing their hot breath together, grounding Lassiter with something he can focus on. Lassiter clasps onto Shawn’s back, tightly gripping it as he feels Shawn’s cock sliding in and out of him, Shawn’s tongue seeking for his own.

Shawn pants as he breaks free from the kiss, but Lassiter quickly finds Shawn’s mouth back on his cheeks and his neck, showering them with small kisses and soft murmurs of gibberish.

Lassiter can’t breathe, feeling so full and feeling his cock rubbing between Shawn’s stomach and his own as they rock together. He feels the pleasure building inside him, more and more as Shawn moves his hips faster and faster, his head rising and falling by his shoulders. Lassiter can’t believe that it feels so fucking good being surrounded by Shawn’s body, feeling Shawn’s weight on top of him, and losing control of himself and simply being Shawn’s—fuck—Shawn’s good boy.

“Shawn, fuck, _Shawn_ —“

As Shawn thrusts in deeper, he feels the light tingling inside his tummy getting stronger and stronger, almost like an itch he can’t scratch. But ignoring an itch makes it become itchier, and just like that, he feels the pleasant tingling spreading throughout his body and, oh god, it feels like he could come, with just a little bit more encouragement. His cock is leaking even more precome, spreading and slicking his stomach.

“Lassie, you’re doing so good, so hungry for my cock,” Shawn pants as he stands his torso up, gripping onto Lassiter’s hips.

His fingers dig into Lassiter’s hip bone, but Lassiter can feel Shawn’s cock brushing by his sensitive spot even more, faster and stronger, building up the tingling sensation until he feels like he needs to get something fucking released.

“Shawn— I need— I need to—“

And fuck, he’s coming, without any hand or external stimulation on his cock. He clutches onto the bedsheet, feeling Shawn fucking his hole, feeling his own cock pulse as it shoots ropes of cum on its own.

“Oh god Lassie, that’s so good, cumming from my cock just like that,” Shawn pants, still rocking his hips over and over.

Lassiter feels dizzy and thinks that maybe he’s coming for way too long, but Shawn is fucking the cum out of him, pound by pound and emptying him out. He feels like he could pass out, but he gives into the exhilarating loss of control as he continues to wet his stomach with his own come. God, he can’t do anything but come as Shawn is fucking him. He faintly hears Shawn calling out his name, his hips moving faster and harder, until he feels Shawn slumping on top of him as he comes.

Lassiter also collapses, his legs stretching out to the sides and his body sinking into the bed even more. He doesn’t even realize when he falls asleep just like that, sweaty and covered in his own come.


	11. Show me how

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the Talk after their night of passionate lovemaking.

Lassiter has a strict morning routine; he wakes up to his alarm, showers, gets dressed, and leaves for the station. The routine is so familiar to him that he doesn’t even have to check the clock when he steps out the door in the morning.

Obviously, there’s a slight change to his routine today. To begin with, he’s up even before the alarm rings. It’s rare—he can stay awake all night, but once he manages to fall asleep, he’s never in a hurry to be up before he needs to. Long, irregular hours and constantly pushing his body will tend to make that a regular occurrence.

But he’s not in a hurry to leave the bed this morning. He’s missed it, waking up with someone by his side, feeling the warm body next to him, the extra warmth making the bed cozier. He stays still, feeling Shawn’s arm around his waist, enjoying the sunlight and the peace, but partly wondering if Shawn would move away if he knows he’s awake.

“Good morning,” Shawn croaks, his voice still sleepy.

He snuggles and pulls Lassiter in closer, his mouth placing small kisses on his shoulders, his warm stomach coming flush on his back. When Shawn’s completely flush against him, the hard tip of Shawn’s morning wood nudges at his ass.

“Don’t mind him. He’ll go away soon,” Shawn quietly murmurs, sounding boyish and cuter from being obviously half asleep, and lightly rocks his hips against Lassiter.

“I don’t think he’s going to go away if you keep on doing that,” Lassiter responds, holding back a grin and turning to lie down on his back. Shawn clings onto Lassiter’s arm and adjusts himself too, resting his head on Lassiter’s chest.

“That’s okay. He doesn’t have to go,” Shawn sighs contentedly before looking up to Lassiter’s face. “But do you have to go?”

“No, I can stay for a bit. Although I should probably shower,” Lassiter says, looking down on his stomach and remembering that it was sticky with so much of his come last night.

“Don’t worry, I wiped you down before I went to sleep,” Shawn says, lightly rubbing on Lassiter’s stomach. “You conked out pretty soon after last night, Lassie. I was a little worried that I might have killed you with my dick.”

“Thanks Shawn,” he says, rolling his eyes and still adjusting to this _Shawn_ , who is so thoughtful and caring unlike the Shawn he’s hated this entire time. “But I should still shower and get ready for work.”

“Can I come too? It would save the water bill, and I won’t be stuck with a cold shower.”

“Yeah,” Lassiter agrees, passing a thought of his previous self who would have enjoyed leaving Shawn with a cold shower. Well, his previous self would have never been in a situation like this. Figure that.

“Come on, I don’t wanna be late.”

Lassiter gets up and sits on the edge of the bed, feeling his muscles sore from the night before. He grunts as he pushes himself up, but he stumbles back down, not expecting his _everywhere_ to be sore like this. Damn, he guesses he got thoroughly fucked like Shawn promised.

“Whoa, Lassie,” Shawn says, running around the bed to take his arm.

“I’m fine,” he says, shaking off the grip and assuring Shawn. “I just didn’t expect to be this sore.”

“Well,” Shawn grins proudly, obviously holding back a comment about his abilities. “The shower should help with some of that.”

* * *

As it turns out, Shawn is not a big fan of getting in the shower before the water is warm. When Shawn asks why he enjoys torturing himself every morning, Lassiter is stumped; he’s just never thought about it before.

He stands in the shower alone and feels the water turning warmer and warmer, letting out a big sigh when he can finally feel his shoulders relaxing. By the time Lassiter is done washing off the soap from his body, the shower is finally steaming, a perfect temperature for Shawn hop in the shower too. Shawn walks up behind him and places his hands on his shoulders.

“Relax,” Shawn says, stroking Lassiter’s shoulders up and down.

He moves his thumbs in circles into his traps, lightly pressing on it and following the arc up to his neck. He rubs the side of his neck with his palms, putting gentle pressure on them before his thumbs move onto working on the base of his head. When the rest of Shawn’s fingers press into his temples, Lassiter sighs out contently, melting into his touch and relaxing his body. To be frank, he didn’t realize that he had all these muscles that needed relaxing.

Shawn slides his hands back down to his shoulders, feeling the ripples of his skin as he follows the natural curve of his back muscles. He brings one of his hands to Lassiter’s chest and holds him to allow more leverage for his other hand to dig deeper into the bigger muscles on his back. The base of his palm quietly works his back muscles, following the valley of his spine down to his lower back.

Once he reaches his lower back, Shawn makes a brief comment about how he sits around for way too much. Lassiter tries to respond, but Shawn presses his knuckles on the tough spots, thoroughly working the kinks and knots Lassiter has in his lower back. Lassiter’s _ow_ ’s quietly turn into pleasurable moans as the pain subsides into an enjoyable massage. It hurts _so_ good that Lassiter wonders if he’s ever worked as a massage therapist during his different job phases.

Shawn’s touches lighten as Lassiter relaxes more and more. He rubs up and down his lower back and kisses the back of his neck as he comes snuggling in, wrapping his arms around to the front and rubbing his stomach up and down.

“How was that?” Shawn asks.

“Not gonna lie, that was pretty good.”

“Oh, I bet I can make that into a really, _really_ good.”

Before Lassiter could ask, Shawn’s hand travels down his stomach and grabs onto his cock as his fingers curl around the shaft.

“Hey, wh— again?” Lassiter turns his head around, trying but unable to see Shawn who has buried his face on his back.

“What, are you complaining about getting too much sex?”

“No, it’s just— I’m not a damn teenager anymore.”

“If this is in reference to getting hard again after a night of mind blowing sex, I don’t think you have much trouble in that department.”

Lassiter feels his blood rushing down to his cock, swelling under Shawn’s touch just like he said. Shawn maintains his grip, lightly stroking his cock up and down and bringing it up fully. Shawn’s other hand slides around the outside his thigh towards the soft skin, gripping onto his inner thigh and pulling him closer, his back flush against his stomach.

Lassiter lets his head fall back as he feels Shawn’s breath on the back of his ear. His hands wander back, wanting to touch Shawn, but all he gets is the side Shawn’s thighs. He feels Shawn’s smile on his back, and Shawn is bringing his hand on his thigh slowly up to reach between his legs.

“God, Shawn—“ Lassiter flinches when Shawn cups his balls.

“So sensitive, so good, Lassie,” Shawn murmurs, his hips pushing in closer and letting his cock nestle between Lassiter’s ass.

 _Fuck_ , Shawn’s cock is already hard—or perhaps it has never gone soft since he woke up. Lassiter’s hands reach out to the wall to support himself even though Shawn is holding him in place with his firm body flush against his back.

Lassiter has done this a lot in the shower by himself, but feeling someone hugging him from behind, feeling a hard cock between his ass sliding up and down, and deft hands working both his cock and his balls, it’s a lot more than he can handle.

He feels the kisses and the soft murmurs of encouragements on the back of his shoulder blades as his cock is getting tugged, still tortuously slow like the night before. Shawn’s other hand slides up from his balls to his stomach and onto his chest, the fingers raking through his chest hair and grasping onto his skin. Lassiter gasps when Shawn’s fingers brush by his nipple, and Shawn takes it as his cue to start flicking and rolling it under his thumb.

“Shawn—“

“So, _so_ good, Lassie. God, you’re so good and sensitive.” Shawn’s breath is also heavy against his back.

“Shawn, please— faster,” Lassiter begs, his hips bucking back and forth between Shawn’s hand and cock.

“Mmh, so needy,” Shawn mumbles, his face burying into his back, his cock still sliding between his ass. “I should have jerked you off a lot earlier if I knew you were going to become so polite, Lassie.”

Lassiter instinctively tries to say something back, some snide remark about Shawn’s comment, but Shawn moves his faster just as he’s asked, and he’s lost, feeling Shawn’s hands twisting and tugging at his cock, Shawn’s chest lightly rumbling against his back as he grunts, Shawn’s hard cock nudging and brushing by his entrance as he rocks his hips, and fuck, Shawn’s warm mouth kissing and sucking at the back of his shoulder.

“Lassie, god, I want to hear you— feel you come—“ Shawn mutters against his skin, his ragged breath punctuating his words.

Lassiter gives Shawn what he wants; not that he has much of a choice with Shawn twisting and pulling his hand faster and faster. He is coming, feeling Shawn all over his body, and calling out for the name that has been driving him crazy since day one.

 _Shawn_.

* * *

Lassiter stands in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around his waist, wiping away the steam in broad strokes and revealing himself in it. Morning scruff lines his face, and as he trails his eyes down from his chin to his neck, he sees the little marks Shawn has left on his skin. Round, dark red marks of varying sizes, deliberately placed lower than where his collar would sit. Lassiter is continuously surprised by Shawn’s actions, little hints here and there that are proving him wrong. That Shawn does care about things. That he’s not entirely operating without any thought.

It makes him wonder whether Shawn has snagged his bathrobe before he could get to it, just so he can see him standing half naked in front of him, scantily clad in a towel that doesn’t leave much for imagination. Lassiter can see him in the mirror behind him, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe, this time keeping the knot loosely slung around his lower stomach. It gives him a nice view of his well defined chest, smooth unlike his.

Lassiter realizes again just how different Shawn and he is in so many regards, including the scruffy facial hair he maintains. Lassiter swears Shawn grooms it, because it always seems to stay at a constant length—unless he’s incapable of growing more facial hair than that, which he guesses is kind of cute too. _God_. Shawn’s mousy mop top without any products holding his hair up makes him look so different, but in a good way.

He deliberates for a little bit when Shawn begs him to keep his beard. Shawn asks whether he’s ever grown it out, suggesting that they should take a vacation to see how long it will grow. Shawn drives a hard bargain, going as far as telling him that he can fuck him tonight instead, but Lassiter still has to maintain his professionalism unlike Shawn. He moves onto shaving his face, making a mental note of how Shawn’s eyes are lingering on his face, seemingly imagining how he’d look with a beard.

His razor glides over the stubbles and highlights the dark marks on his pale skin even more. Seeing them in the mirror, seeing Shawn’s hazy reflection behind him, remembering the flashes of images and feelings of Shawn on his body, it almost feels like a distant dream.

 _Shawn Spencer_.

Lassiter puts down his razor, resting his hands on the sink, his face still foamy with the shaving cream.

“Shawn,” Lassiter calls out, his head lifting up from the sink and looking at Shawn through the mirror.

“Ooh, did you change your mind about shaving?” Shawn beams, peering around to see the state of his beard. “Because I think you can still save it if you also get the other side a little—“

“—Shawn.”

“Yes, Lassie?”

“You know I hate it when you call me Lassie,” he says, turning around and facing Shawn as he crosses his arms.

“Well, it’s a term of endearment, and I’m not doing it to piss you off,” Shawn explains. When Lassiter stays still, maintaining his straight face, Shawn sighs and continues babbling. “It’s like how I call Jules Jules. Or Gus Gus. Although for Gus he likes it that way because Burton is his weird uncle’s name.”

“Shawn, I know all that. It’s just—“ Lassiter interrupts. “You asked me to call you Shawn yesterday. So I’m asking you to call me by my name too.”

“Oh.”

“You are Shawn, so I should be Carlton too,” Lassiter says, pouting a little bit as he crosses his legs and leans on the sink.

“Okay. I can do that,” Shawn says, pausing before he calls him ‘Carlton’ the unfamiliar feeling of his name on his mouth compelling him to say it once again. “Carlton.”

It’s really nothing, but it makes his heart flutter a little bit. It also makes it feel so much more _fucking_ real, hearing Shawn call him Carlton instead of his stupid made up nicknames that doesn’t even make sense.

“Thank you,” Lassiter nods, crooking a half smile before returning to finish his shave.

By the time Lassiter is out of the bathroom, Shawn is already dressed and perched up on the arm of the couch.

“Breakfast?” Shawn asks.

“I’ll get something on the way to work. I’ll also drop you off.”

“No! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Lassie!” Shawn pauses, catching himself. “ _Carlton_. Breakfast is the most important meal, Carlton. Let’s go to get something together.”

Lassiter quickly checks the clock to see if he could indulge himself even more this morning.

“Oh, come on. There will be plenty of time if you get dressed now,” Shawn says, pushing him towards the bedroom.

He figures he can.

* * *

The smell of bacon and sweet pancakes surround the air as Lassiter sits in front of Shawn, facing each other in a corner booth of a diner. Lassiter didn’t even know that this place was a _thing_ , but Shawn swears they have the best pancakes in town. It seems to be true, seeing how many people are here early in the morning on a weekday.

The waitstaff quickly comes around with a pot of coffee. Shawn politely declines and asks for a glass of orange juice instead, watching Lassiter grabbing a handful of sugar packets and creamers from the condiments dish. As Lassiter takes a sip out of the hot, sweet and creamy cup of coffee, Shawn sits quietly and watches him, smiling and leaning into his hands.

When the staff comes back with Shawn’s orange juice, he orders the famous breakfast pancake combo, while Lassiter orders scrambled eggs with a side of toast. Shawn tells him that he is going to make him try the pancakes, and that he’ll change his mind about ‘childish food’ as Lassiter calls it.

Shawn makes a little ‘ooh’ noise when the staff brings a small jug of syrup for his pancakes. He excitedly pours some out on his spoon, licking it clean before h notices Lassiter staring.

“What?” Shawn asks, looking up to Lassiter.

“That’s just pure sugar, you know that, right?” Lassiter asks, frowning to hold back his smile.

“Your coffee is too. Four sugars?”

“So what?” Lassiter responds, crossing his arms defensively.

“Exactly,” Shawn says, continuing to lick his spoon.

Lassiter also returns to sipping his sugary coffee, unsure of what else people talk about over breakfast. He assumes he probably should save the dead clown story for a later time, but he wouldn’t be too sure of anything at this point. He goes back and forth between opening his mouth to say something, and closing them as he realizes how stupid the topic is.

Shawn flicks his eyes up and down between his spoon and Lassiter’s face, before he finally breaks the silence to Lassiter’s relief.

“So, if I start calling you Carlton at work, people are going to know,” Shawn says offhandedly, taking a sip of his juice.

“Yeah. Let’s not do that. Just stick to your silly nicknames for now.”

“Okay. I guess you can keep on calling me an idiot, and I can keep on making fun of you,” Shawn chuckles.

“Yeah,” Lassiter agrees. This thing may work out after all.

“But we get to have sex on top of that,” Shawn adds unabashedly.

“I— I _guess_ Shawn,” Lassiter says, feeling his face a little warm and lowering his eyes down to his coffee at the mention of sex.

“And then maybe I get to slap your butt when I see you?” Shawn pushes.

“Absolutely not!”

“Sit on your lap?”

“No.”

“How about I affectionately caress your face?”

“Shawn, those things are—“ Lassiter catches himself being louder than he should be, and straightens himself in his seat. “If you start doing things like that, people will definitely take notice.”

“But those are all the things that I’ve already done to you before, remember?”

“I— Huh.” Lassiter pauses to think, remembering all the times he wanted to strangle Shawn for encroaching on his personal bubble. “I guess so, yeah.”

“La— _Carlton_ , I really believe that nothing will change from the outside perspective. I’ve been doing all that since the day we met!”

“Wait, so was that all flirting?”

Shawn winks, bringing his glass of juice up to his mouth and pausing before he says “Maybe.” He takes a sip out of the juice, watching Lassiter’s brows lifting in confusion.

“What do you mean, maybe?” Lassiter asks.

“I just knew what you really wanted. So I was giving you what you didn’t even know you wanted,” Shawn explains. He puts his fingers up to his temple and continues. “True psychic style.”

“Okay, Shawn. Cut the psychic crap.” Lassiter snaps.

Shawn slowly puts his hand away from temple and looks back at Lassiter, looking a little guilty and nervous. Lassiter lets the moment sit for a little bit and when doesn’t hear the usual quips about how he needs to believe in Shawn’s process, he lets out a deep breath and continues.

“Shawn, I’m not— I’m not angry. I just—“ he pauses. “You asked me to trust you yesterday, and I did. And I’m glad that I did,” he pauses again, seeing the waitress approaching their table with their orders.

Shawn looks up to the staff and thanks them, while Lassiter mumbles his thanks when he gets his plate, a little bit annoyed at the timing of things. He holds up his cutleries, but doesn’t dig into his food even after they are left alone again in their little bubble among the bustling diner.

“So tell me. Show me that I can trust you, completely.” Lassiter continues where he left off, still holding onto his cutleries and waiting for Shawn to respond.

“Um—wow this is good, you should try it—but, um, you can trust me?” Shawn says, his mouth already stuffed full of a slice of pancake. His pitch raises at the end as if he’s not sure of what he’s saying either.

“No. I mean, tell me how you do it, Shawn. I _know_ you’re not actually a psychic.”

“Oh.” Shawn pauses, his cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk as he slowly chews his food.

“If we are doing this, I want to know I can trust you in more ways. Not just in the bedroom, but I also need to know I can depend on you at work.”

“You can depend on me with your work, no sweat.” Shawn deflects, swallowing his pancake slowly.

“Shawn, I know you know what I mean. I am admitting that my cases get solved faster with you involved. I also know that we can get it solved even faster if you didn’t hide things from me until you get your spotlight to do the psychic act.”

Lassiter knows he’s hit the nail square on the head. Shawn looks back and forth between Lassiter’s face and his place, his fork poking at the sausage in different places every time. Lassiter frowns a bit, wondering if Shawn is trying to tell him something with the massacre of his sausage, but he waits, knowing that it’s not an easy thing for Shawn to admit either.

“Do you promise not to get mad?” Shawn finally asks.

“I promise. I mean, how bad can it be?”

Shawn raises his brows at his comment and lets out a big sigh, and Lassiter wonders if he is going to regret asking that question. But as Shawn goes into detail about his process, his training from Henry, his eidetic memory, and how he is able to pick up all the clues and make associations and connections in his mind, Lassiter has a hard time believing that it’s as simple as Shawn makes it out to be. (He also guesses he can finally understand why Shawn gets so annoyed at Henry, _Jesus_.)

“Holy shit, Shawn.” Lassiter stares at him with his eyes wide. “So you’re telling me you’re actually like Sherlock Holmes? I almost believe that you’re a psychic more than this.”

“Ouch, Carlton.” Shawn says, the ‘Carlton’ coming out naturally for the first time. “It’s the truth.”

“All this time, I was trying to figure out how you were cheating, and here you are, telling me that you’re actually smart,” Lassiter says, still in disbelief. “So the detective test thing was real?”

“Oh yeah, I scored a hundred on it.”

“You would have made a— actually, you probably wouldn’t have made a great detective.”

“Yeah, no. Which is why I was doing this,” Shawn says, putting his fingers back up to his temples.

“Right.” Lassiter takes a last bite of his toast, just realizing that he’s eaten everything off his place as Shawn was explaining his process. “Do you think you can teach me some of that stuff?”

“Oh believe me, Carlton. I have _so_ much to teach you.” He winks.

Lassiter chokes on his coffee when Shawn drags his foot up his legs under the table.

* * *

Juliet balances the pile of folders in her arms, shuffling towards her desk as fast as she can hoping she could make it there before the pile ends up on the floor. When she’s on her halfway mark, her partner comes into the station, a little later than usual, but not outside the normal range.

“O’Hara! What’s with all these files?”

Juliet doubts her ears when she hears Carlton sounding so _chipper_ this early in the morning. She turns her head to see if he has bought a cup of coffee on his way to work, but she notices that his hand is empty.

 _Interesting_.

“I’m pulling everything we have on the new case the Chief assigned us.” Juliet answers, while keeping her eyes on him closely.

“Oh neat, lemme help you with that.” Carlton says, reaching out and taking more than half of the pile into his arms.

Okay. Since when does Carlton say things like _neat_?

“Thanks, Carlton,” Juliet responds incredulously, making no effort to hide her tone. She studies his face further as they walk down the hallway together, maybe a little too obviously, but she knows there is _something_ that she needs to find out.

She notices that Lassiter is clean shaven without any of the usual missed spots, and he looks surprisingly well rested and rejuvenated compared to the day before. His tie is done to the top instead of hanging crookedly, and oh my, as he leans down to adjust his hold on the files, she sees a dark red mark barely visible under the collar of his shirt.

_Oh. My. God._

Juliet realizes she’s staring, but her eyes don’t seem to want to tear away from Carlton.

“Okay, _what_ ,” Carlton finally says, stopping in his tracks and rolling his eyes towards her.

“Nothing,” Juliet squeaks, trying her best to hold back an oncoming squeal.

“What, I can’t help you out with carrying things?” He shakes his head, still confused and defensive.

“No,” she says, her eyes turning up into a smile while she tries to keep her mouth still. “It’s nothing. It’s good to see you not being so grumpy in the morning.”

“Oh.” Carlton mutters, seemingly just noticing his own demeanor.

“So, I’m guessing you ended up talking things out with Shawn?” Juliet asks.

“Um, sorry?”

“I get it,” Juliet smiles and nods at Carlton as his eyes look like those of a deer in the headlights. “Don’t mention it.”

“Wh—”

“I got the files too, Carlton,” she says, picking the pile back up from his arms. “I have a much better grip now.”

Juliet walks away, smiling, leaving Carlton standing in the middle of the hallway looking confused as hell.

The plan worked like a charm.


	12. The Art Of Dick Pics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn gives Lassiter a crash course on taking a nice dick pic

**_S: wat r u wearing today_ **

**_L: The same stuff you saw me leave in. Why are you asking me that?_ **

**_S: nooo what r u wearing under it ;)_ **

**_L: You saw my underwear this morning too._ **

**_S: that’s not how u play this game carlton_ **

**_L: What do you mean?_ **

**_S: omg just go to the bathroom_ **

**_L: Why?_ **

**_S: just do it_ **

**_S: are u there yet?_ **

**_L: I’m here now._ **

**_S: ok so i want u to get urself hard and send me a picture_ **

**_L: That’s absurd. I’m not doing that._ **

**_S: but u gotta ;)_ **

**_S: r u hard yet_ **

**_L: It’s not the easiest place to get myself hard._ **

**_S: just think about what we did last night ;p_ **

**_S: and once ur hard take a picture of ur dick and send it to me mr sexy_ **

**_L: IMG_018.jpg_ **

**_S: wtf is this_ **

**_L: I took a picture like you said._ **

**_S: omg CARLTON_ **

**_S: this could be ur lunch for all i know_ **

**_S: we r going to have to teach u how to take better pics_ **

**_L: We? Who else is reading this?_ **

**_S: only me it was a royal we_ **

**_L: Can I go back now?_ **

**_S: did u cum_ **

**_L: No, I need to go back_ **

**_S: ok fine for now >:(_ **

**_S: im coming over for lunch so maybe we can do something_ **

**_S: something incredibly kinky ;)_ **

**_S: hello?_ **

**_S: carlton?_ **

* * *

It’s nearing lunchtime and all Lassiter has managed was to go over the stack of files with O’Hara over and over again. At this point he’s not sure what else they could have possibly missed, and he’s starting to get sick of the mountains of files that are crowding his workspace.

It’s no use sitting around here, he thinks, taking in another gulp of his coffee to keep his hunger at bay. He figures that he and O’Hara should go back to the scene, armed with all the new information they have gathered from the old files.

“O’Hara—“ Lassiter begins, but he’s quickly interrupted by Shawn who is coming around with Guster and waving his hands above his head for everyone to see.

“Hey Lassie!”

“Shaw— Spencer, what are you doing here?” Lassiter asks, surprised as he shoots up from his desk and walks towards him.

“I came over for lunch.” Shawn shrugs like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

It is technically true—seeing him waltzing into the station at odd hours is not a rare sight. He always makes a grand, loud, and obnoxious entrance that draws all the attention to him, and today is no exception. Lassiter starts to notice the attention surrounding them, the underhanded gazes that are no doubt waiting for him to react to Shawn’s antics. It makes him wonder whether they have noticed the deviation in his tone when he greeted Shawn.

He’s gotten surprised by Shawn’s entrance before, he tells himself. Just like Shawn said, they have always bickered and yelled at each other (well, he was mostly the one doing the yelling). There is nothing to worry about. Back to the groove.

He puts on his signature glare, shooting out an unspoken order for everyone around him to get back to their work and mind their own business. He then turns to Shawn, putting on a fake smile that looks more like a wince. “Uh, _no_ ,” he drags out, his voice amicable but threatening at the same time. He menacingly wraps his arms around Shawn’s back, pulling him towards the privacy of his desk area and puts on his low growl, hoping Shawn understands what he is implying. “I already had lunch.”

“I haven’t,” O’Hara interjects. “If you guys wanna go together, I’m down.”

“What are you guys working on anyways? Oh wait, my senses are telling me—“ Shawn stops, twisting away from Lassiter’s grip. “Dollar bills. No, dancers? Oh my, you’re about to go to a strip club— no. Strip mall. Down the boulevard!”

“Yeah! How did you know that?” O’Hara asks, still amazed by Shawn’s psychic act as if it’s her first time seeing it.

“Yeah, how _did_ you know that Spencer?” Lassiter glares again, knowing Shawn’s truth this time with certainty. But Shawn holds his fingers up to his head and wiggles them, crooking his brows at Lassiter and O’Hara with an idiotic smolder on his face.

“Right. Sure,” Lassiter says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, since Lassie already had lunch, how about you two go for lunch? Lassie and I got the scene covered,” Shawn says, pointing at O’Hara and Guster.

O’Hara looks uneasy at the suggestion, sensing Lassiter’s annoyance. “Shawn—“

“It’s fine,” Shawn cuts off O’Hara’s protests and assures her. “Lassie and I will go check out the scene. Someone has _got_ to keep an eye on his ass, and I volunteer myself for that very task,” Shawn says playfully, slinging his arm around Lassiter’s shoulders.

“That’s—“ Lassiter pauses and lets out a heavy sigh instead. If he didn’t know better, he would have smashed Shawn’s face onto his desk with pleasure. He understands that this is still very much in the realm of Shawn’s regular antics, which he guesses is what they agreed on, but a part of him is starting to get worried that people might notice that something is up with all these innuendos.

“You’re not coming,” Lassiter grumbles, letting out a subtle protest.

“Oh yes I have, and I will. Many more times,” Shawn quips, bringing his arm down from his shoulders to his ass and patting them gently.

 _Jesus_ —

“Christ, Spencer—“ Lassiter jumps in his spot, the innuendo not lost to him at all.

O’Hara looks like she’s about to burst trying her best to hold her laughter in. Lassiter runs—well, jumps away from Shawn back to his desk, shooting an angry look at her and Guster alike, although Guster doesn’t seem to be reacting to any of what’s happening at all.

O’Hara goes back to pretending that nothing happened, turning her face down onto her desk and flicking through the pages of the report. Jesus, he’s done everything to shut them up from making any comments, but he’s still embarrassed, knowing that Juliet is trying her best to hide her giggles. God, there is no way she doesn’t know.

He frowns as he lets out a sigh, figuring it would be better to leave the station with Shawn altogether. He’ll deal with it later.

“Spencer, you better behave,” Lassiter says, snatching his jacket off from his chair and still putting the silent pressure on O’Hara with his glare.

“Good, we’re going to the scene then!” Shawn beams.

O’Hara seems to have calmed down, although the mischievous look is still lingering in her eyes. “Have fun guys,” she says, giving out a little wave.

Juliet stands up from her desk and walks around to Gus. They stand next to each other as they watch Shawn and Carlton leave—Shawn trying to put his arms around Carlton and Carlton smacking him away repeatedly.

“You see it too, huh?” Gus asks after a moment.

“Yeah!” Juliet finally lets out, doing little hops of joy in her spot.

“Why are you so happy for them?”

“Oh, come on, Gus,” she nudges him with her elbow. “They’ve been at this for such a long time, and now they’re finally there!”

“I _guess_ ,” Gus responds, but he doesn’t seem too happy about it.

“And Carlton walked in this morning and he was actually pleasant. I’ll take that over grumpy and snappy.”

Gus nods, accepting her very valid answer. “Yeah, Shawn was… _calmer_ than normal,” he says, a little wary of the fact. “Doesn’t that freak you out?”

“Why, should we follow them to see?”

“Uh, _no thanks_ ,” he says, shaking his head vigorously. “But I could actually go for something to eat.”

Juliet agrees. “Yeah, me too.”

* * *

The midday sun is bright in its usual fashion, and it almost stings to stand under the strong rays. Lassiter loosens his tie as he walks towards his car, adjusting his shades up his nose. Shawn shuffles behind him to catch up to his long stride, straggling only after Lassiter finally managed to escape his grabby hands.

The inside of the car is suffocating like a sauna too, but at least it’s darker and easier on his eyes. Lassiter sits down in his seat, flicking the knobs of his A/C and keeping the door open to let the air flow. Shawn finally manages to catch up and climbs into the passenger seat, jumping a little bit when the hot leather seat touches the back of his arms.

Other than Shawn’s yelp, they sit in silence while the car is cooling down; Lassiter isn’t so keen on talking about anything private with the doors ajar. But he’s not feeling quite patient enough to wait, closing the door and urging Shawn to do the same when it becomes just breathable inside.

“Shawn, that was—“

“ _Relax_ Lassie, nobody noticed what we were talking about. Why were you running away?” He sounds carefree, his devil-may-care attitude coming across as cruel, almost.

“Shawn, there were people watching. Besides, I—”

“Do you want me to back off when we’re around others?”

“Can you?” Lassiter asks in earnest.

He turns to look at Shawn, belatedly wondering if he’s pushing him away too far. But Shawn backs up, putting his hands down out assuredly on the center console.

“I totes get it, Carlton. I know you have a lot more to lose than I do,” he nods, flashing his boyish grin. “ _So_ , shall we?”

“Yeah, suppose so.” Lassiter nods, hoping Shawn could hear him thanking him internally. Somehow he does feel that Shawn can.

“Okay, one more thing—how did you know we’re going to the strip mall?” Lassiter asks, keeping his focus straight out the window, his pride a little hurting from having to ask the question that’s no doubt so obvious to Shawn.

“I read it on your files.”

Lassiter glances at Spencer, trying to see if he’s still yanking his chain. “You’re telling me you read the text upside down from that far away?”

“Yeah. Letters do the spinny thing in my head and I can read the text like normal.”

“Naturally,” he says, making no effort to hide the fact that he’s annoyed that Shawn has all these _abilities_.

“Don’t be upset! You can totally learn it in like, two days max. At least that’s how long it took with my dad as my teacher,” Shawn says, paying no mind to Lassiter’s annoyance. “But with me it’s definitely going to take less.”

Lassiter doubts that would be the case, but he figures it’s best not to mull over it too long. He has better things to do now. “So, are we actually going to the scene?” Lassiter changes the topic.

“Okay, you have an hour for a lunch break, and we’re _not_ going to the scene right now. The scene will take 5 minutes top, and I’ll explain everything I notice to you on the way back to the station.”

“Okay, then where?”

“The Psych office.”

“Why?”

“It’s closer than our places.”

“Isn’t Guster going to be there?”

“Nah, he’s actually going for lunch with Jules.” Shawn points out the window, to where they are seen walking out the station together.

* * *

Lassiter steps inside the Psych office, looking out the windows to the boardwalk where there’s quite a bit of traffic. People are enjoying their lunchtime, some eating on the benches, some talking a nice stroll along the waters, some happily meeting up with their friends and acquaintances.

Shawn closes the door behind him, locking the bolt, and walks towards the window and shuts the blinds one by one, cutting off Lassiter’s view. When Lassiter looks at Shawn to see what the agenda is, he’s pushed down onto the couch in front of the windows.

“Shawn, what are you—“

Shawn straddles down Lassiter and kisses him, his hands sliding down onto his pants and seeking out what he wants. Lassiter moans softly in between the kisses with Shawn’s hand hard and fast, feeling his cock already swelling inside his pants.

This was most definitely not on his lunch agenda, but coming here to the Psych office was not at the top of his list either. Lassiter can’t say no to this development when Shawn pulls his belt, undoing his zipper and taking his cock out. He hears Shawn’s voice calling out his name and opens his eyes to Shawn holding his cock in his hands. In the middle of the Psych office, in broad daylight.

“Carlton,” Shawn says again. “Take your phone out.”

“Huh?” Lassiter responds, his eyes still hazy and confused.

“Take your phone out.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, Carlton. I’m going to teach you something.”

Lassiter whimpers, still confused at Shawn’s request, but he nods and takes his phone out from his inner jacket pocket.

“Good, okay, so show me how you were taking the picture this morning,” Shawn says, his voice serious and his face equally serious.

“I— is this what this is about?”

“Yes. It was never not about it.”

“But Shawn—” Lassiter stops to moan when Shawn twists his hand on his cock. “—Shawn, why?”

“God, Carlton. Remember when you first got the picture from me?”

Lassiter nods. He definitely remembers that picture. His face is lighting up just thinking about it.

“Is it still in your phone?”

Lassiter quietly nods again. He hasn’t been able to get rid of the picture, and now that they’re… bumping it, he plans on keeping it around for a while. Shawn seems to know the effect the photo has on him, smirking as he asks his next question.

“And why do you have so much attachment to it?”

“It—“ Lassiter stammers. “I guess, uh, it was nice seeing that you were so hard for me. And your dick was in the middle, and it looked good.”

“Yes! See, half of the art is knowing what’s a turn-on and what’s a turn-off.”

“Yeah,” Lassiter says, a slight smile spreading across his face at the praise. “Okay.”

Shawn turns his attention back to Lassiter’s cock, lifting Lassiter’s hand and placing it around it.

“So, _now_ , give it a nice grip, but don’t try too hard to make it stand upright to make it longer. Nobody needs vanity.”

Lassiter adjusts his hand, holding onto his cock with a soft grip. He looks over to Shawn, who nods to approve of his choice.

“Good, now how would you take the photo?” Shawn asks, climbing down from his lap and sitting himself besides him.

“Uh,” Lassiter pauses, flicking open his phone with his free hand and clicking the buttons to get to his camera. “Like this?”

“No, no, no. This is not Grey’s Anatomy. I do not want to see any close up shots. You have to keep a little distance.”

“Okay,” Lassiter responds, pulling his arms back a little bit.

Shawn looks over to his phone screen, pauses for a moment to look at the angle and adjusts Lassiter’s arm a little bit higher.

“Okay, that’s good. Give it a go.”

Lassiter clicks the button, and his phone goes off with a flash.

“Gah, turn off that flash, Lassie! It’s never sexy to see a fluorescent dick.”

“Well, for crime scene pictures I have to keep the flash on,” Lassiter defends his choice.

“Your dick is _not_ a crime scene, Carlton. Please.”

“Well I—“ He guesses it’s true. “How do I do that?”

“Uh,” Shawn mutters, squinting his eyes a bit at Lassiter. He peers in, leaning on Lassiter’s shoulders. “I think—okay, yeah, click the button, no the other, yeah, one more time? Yeah. It’s off now.”

Lassiter nods and clicks the button again, tilting his phone to show Shawn the result.

“Yeah, okay, now you’re getting the hang of it.”

It’s a strange situation to be in, but Lassiter feels a bit proud for taking a decent picture that Shawn approves of.

“Okay, now, you need to create a story within the picture. Like, when I see the picture, I want to see you holding it like you were just touching yourself, making yourself hard because you were thinking of me in that moment.”

Lassiter gulps, hearing Shawn’s elaborate description that sounds intriguing to think about if he were on the receiving end.

“Can you do that?” Shawn asks.

“Uh—“

“That’s your homework for today,” Shawn says, slapping Lassiter’s knees as he gets up from the couch. “Let’s go to the scene now, Carlton!”

“But Shawn!”

Lassiter tries to stop him with his protests, but Shawn is already at the door, unlocking the latch as he looks back. “What?”

“I— Come on!“ Lassiter looks pleadingly back and forth between Shawn and his hard cock.

“Sorry, but we gotta go, Carlton,” Shawn says cheekily as he winks. “If we leave now we can _totally_ get the street tacos on the way back too.”

God, the bastard knew what he was doing. This was his plan all along.

Lassiter shoves his phone back into his jacket pocket and zips himself back up, because he doesn’t think it would be the greatest thing to get caught with his parts hanging out in the Psych office for no apparent reason when Shawn inevitably opens the door. He wonders how he ended up in this situation to begin with, and what kind of psychic hoodoo Shawn actually has over him to persuade him to do these things.

He gets up, sighing when Shawn opens the door and gestures him outside. But boy, does Shawn have something coming to him. He’s going to make sure of it tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😂
> 
> I got behind on responding to them but thank you for all the nice comments and kudos! I do read every single one of them and appreciate all of them _a lot_ ❤️


	13. The Thrilling Conclusion

Lassiter is not going to lie, the tacos were actually good that he’s not *too* mad about the situation back at the Psych office. 

The scene was a clean break too, Shawn taking less than five minutes to discover at least three new leads to follow up on. It took the entire drive to explain his reasoning behind them, but it all somehow made sense. Lassiter was astounded yet again. 

The fact that it took less than five minutes for Shawn to make all these connections, jeez. He was barely noticing the first clue when Shawn told him that he was good to go. He realizes has a long way to go before he can learn to see like Shawn.

And Shawn too; he has a long way to go… in *other* regards.

“Ooh, you should turn left here,” Shawn says, at the intersection right before the station.

“Shawn, I know how to get to my station,” Lassiter replies. “And it’s a right here.”

“Yeah, that’s the left I meant.”

Shawn does something so ridiculous like this every now and again that he doesn’t understand how he can be the same person who delivered him three solid leads from the scene. But for the first time, Shawn isn't an enigma to him—he astounded him still, but he realizes that Shawn is just some kid with a really smart head (that only works if he decides to use it).

They get to the station just in time to see O’Hara and Guster leisurely heading back in, O’Hara holding an iced coffee and Guster slurping on a pink smoothie.

“Anything come out of the scene?” O’Hara asks, when she sees them coming up the stairs.

“From the scene?“ Shawn smirks, but looks at Lassiter and holds himself back from making the remark he *knows* he was going to make. “Yeah. Lassie can tell you all about it.” 

O’Hara raises her brows but nods, perhaps impressed that Shawn kept his mouth shut, his behavior vastly different from merely an hour ago. Lassiter is glad that Shawn can keep his promises, although with some effort.

“Ooh, is that a double berry smoothie?” Shawn asks Guster, and he and Guster walk away like they do.

\- - -

Back in the station, he sits with O’Hara to fill her in with the new information. With the reasoning Shawn provided him, she’s easily convinced that they should promptly follow up with the leads.

He agrees. Although—

“O’Hara, I think I need to tell you something,” Lassiter says, stopping behind her on their way to the car.

“Carlton,” O’Hara replies, walking back up to him and patting his arm. “If this is about Shawn, I know.” She smiles, and goes back to marching towards the car.

“Yeah, about that, how *did* you know that?” Lassiter asks a little defensively, following her to the car. “Actually, you were the one telling me to talk to Shawn and listen to him.” Lassiter realizes.

“*Yeah*,” she smiles gently, nodding proudly and admitting the fact. “I’m a detective, and I’ve been told that I’m pretty good at reading people,” she boasts, and goes into the passenger seat.

“Well, I guess I should thank you for that then,” Lassiter mutters, hoping to hide his gratitude behind the commotion of getting into the car. “Juliet,” he adds as he sits in his seat, and tells himself he shouldn’t really make a habit of showing vulnerability like this. It’s not the most comfortable feeling in the world.

“You’re welcome. But you’re gonna have to tell me how you guys got together! Like, when did it start?”

“I wouldn’t push it, O’Hara. One thing at a time.”

“Oh, come on, Carlton, who initiated it?” She nudges him. “Was it Shawn?”

“I— technically I might have started it,” he says, thinking that it’s enough to satisfy his partner. But she continues to look at him with a glint in her eyes that Lassiter ends up confessing. “I texted him by accident.”

“Accident?” she asks cheekily.

“Yes, O’Hara. *Accident*,” he confirms, but O’Hara still looks unconvinced. “I was supposed to text some random guy I found on a website, okay? Let’s not press it any more than that.”

“No judgment here. Accidentally texting Shawn,” she mutters, the disbelief still audible in her voice.

“The guy was real! I didn’t just text Shawn because I wanted to. I must have pressed on his contact by accident.”

“And you didn’t notice that anything was wrong? Like say, Shawn’s name on the top of the message box?” she asks pointedly, trying to get him to admit something that’s not even true.

“I was— okay, I see what you’re doing,” Lassiter says, grimacing and gripping onto the steering wheel.

“What? I’m just asking a valid question.”

“I made a mistake, and it doesn’t matter, because ultimately your matchmaking worked out. So *now*,” he grunts, putting his palms flat onto the steering wheel, his eyes downcast and ready to flee the scene. “Can we get back to work?”

“Not a problem, Carlton.”

They drive to check up on their first lead in utter silence until O’Hara comments.

“I notice that you’re calling him Shawn now.”

Christ Almighty.

\- - -

Lassiter is glad that work is finally over, after following up on the leads and getting closer to finding a break in the case. But jeez, O’Hara’s interrogation continued on the entire drive, asking him innocent questions that turned out to be sneaky segues to asking about his relationship with Shawn. She was beginning to get aggressive with her questions, and he’s glad that it’s Shawn sitting in the passenger seat now instead of her.

When they walk into his place, Shawn promptly throws himself on the couch and lies down, supporting the back of his head with his hands.

“Lassie, have you done your homework yet?” he asks, knowing very well that he was working the entire afternoon and evening. “I can’t believe you were going to sext with those abysmal photo skills.”

Jesus, why does everyone doubt his online dating skills? 

“Hey, the guy said he was interested in me. Like a lot,” he emphasizes, pulling on his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. “He would have taken *anything* I gave him.”

Shawn looks doubtful. “Who *was* this guy anyways?”

“I don’t know! Why does everyone keep on asking me that?” Lassiter raises his voice. “I didn’t get to talk to him, all I know is he was recommended to me as a hot single in the area.”

“Carlton?” Shawn calls out, holding back a laugh and seating himself upright on the couch. “Did you say local hot single ready to meet you?”

“Yeah?” He pauses, frowning perplexedly.

“Okay, am I going to have to teach you internet safety too? *Carlton*, those things are a scam!”

“*No*, they’re not,” he confidently asserts. “They even knew I was from Santa Barbara.”

“Oh man, it’s a good thing you texted me by accident instead,” Shawn comments, and when he notices Lassiter’s glare, part in confusion and part in irritation, he turns his body towards him and pauses, trying to find a way to put things delicately. “Trust me, you would have had a much better time with me than the internet hottie if our sexting continued the first night.”

Great. Lassiter feels like sulking now. After O’Hara being nosy about his sex life the entire afternoon, he’s not really in the mood to continue on with this this conversation.

Thankfully Shawn changes the topic back to his original question. “So, homework?”

And boy, does Lassiter have something to show him.

“Yeah about that,” Lassiter says, smirking and strutting towards Shawn. He stands in front of him and pushes him down onto the couch, Shawn letting himself fall back down under him. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” Shawn gulps.

“Oh, you’ll see,” Lassiter says, leaving out the part where he’s going to make sure he regrets leaving him hanging during their lunch hour together.

He kisses him, hard and fast, and brings his hand down onto Shawn’s flannel, quickly working through the buttons and pushing the shirt open. He lowers his mouth and kisses Shawn’s neck, feeling the stubbles graze against his lips, and lowers his mouth down to his chest, following the natural arc down. 

He finds his nipples, already hard, and takes it into his mouth, drawing a sharp breath out of Shawn. His other hand diligently rolls the other nipple under the pad of his thumb, and if he had known this was Shawn’s weakness, he would have exploited it long time ago. *God*, Shawn is moaning under him when he continues to suck on his nipple, rolling it under his tongue and nibbling at it.

“Oh fuck, Carlton—“ Shawn arches his back.

But Lassiter pushes him back down onto the couch and lowers himself down further towards Shawn’s jeans, pulling on the zippers and dragging his pants and boxers down to his ankles. Shawn lifts his ass to help him, all the while panting and craning his head to look at Lassiter. Oh, he can tell that Shawn wants it *bad*.

And yes, Shawn is hard. Lassiter takes his cock into his hand and strokes it, gently at first, but when he sees the precome beading at the tip of his cock, he takes it into his mouth without hesitation.

“Oh, what—Carlt—wow—” Shawn’s head falls back as he grips onto the couch. His legs bend at the knees and he squirms against the couch, dragging his feet up and down the fabric like a bug, flipped over on his back and unable to move an inch. Yeah, Lassiter knows this is good.

He makes Shawn tremble with his mouth, and he can feel Shawn’s body tensing up under him. Shawn’s hands fall onto Lassiter’s head, and he’s at the point where he can’t keep his legs up anymore—they fall out to the sides, but his hips are moving up and down, following the movements of his mouth. 

And just when things are getting good, Lassiter withdraws.

“Okay, I think I’m going to wash up and go do bed now,” he says, getting up from the couch and trying his best not to grin at Shawn’s state, disheveled and utterly blown away with his shirt wide open and pants pooled around his ankles, face flush and sweaty, and his cock red, hard and glistening.

“Wha—?” Shawn asks, still dazed and miles away.

“Sorry, gotta go to work tomorrow early.” Lassiter shrugs and walks towards his bedroom.

Shawn finally realizes what’s happening. He gets up from his couch, stumbling with his pants around his ankles. “Carlton! I can’t believe you’re doing this!” he shouts from behind, stepping out of his pants frantically so he can run after him.

But Lassiter doesn’t stop, still holding back his grin as he opens the door to the bedroom.

“Oh come on, you want it as much as I do!” Shawn says, stopping in his doorway and holding onto the frame. His shirt is still hanging open and his dick is bobbing, but Lassiter bites back a smile and kicks his shoes off, and moves onto taking his shirt off, as slowly as he can.

“And you know that how?” Lassiter asks like it’s a dare.

“I can tell you about five things I see right now that would explain it.”

“Enlighten me, Shawn,” Lassiter asks, sitting down on his bed and leaning back into the headboard.

“Oh yeah, I’m *really* gonna show you, Carlton.” 

And Lassiter welcomes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


End file.
